


Dead of Night

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Clan Denial, Cussing, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Found Family, Friendship, New Immortal, Non Canonical Immortal, Romance, Secrets, Watchers, implied past domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-15 05:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: A Watcher's obsession with Watching poses a danger to the new love Joe has found.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingsyouburn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsyouburn/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas: YMFaery for helping me choose which fic to write and for the nitpicking, to Nevada for breaking my block and helping me to write the end, and to Morgan Briarwood for the amazing insights and for making the first draft beta happen despite not having reliable Internet access. Thanks also to TorraK, @Phlent, and Tazlet for answering my question on Twitter about what a man named Roan would look like. Also a shoutout to Rhi, who always manages to make my fics better just by being there when I need her.
> 
> This presumes Joe Dawson retired from the Watchers in 2009 and was 19 in 1968, which would make him 69 in 2018. Also, Clan Denial is alive and well. What millennial demon? La la la can’t hear you, there are holiday songs playing….
> 
> Now with podfic read by Nevada: [podfic](https://www.mediafire.com/file/1w9gjb6znebvn4z/Dead_of_Night_full.mp3/file)

_November 2018_

Rain in Seacouver in November was nothing new; heavy rain combined with gale-force winds, however, made Joe nervous. Power outages in those conditions were not uncommon, and while Joe’s had its own backup generator, Joe had no such luxury at home. At sixty-nine, Joe refused to move out of the home he had purchased decades earlier. He had renovated it to meet his needs; he had no interest in living in an assisted or senior living facility unless he had no other choice. He always meant to purchase a backup generator for his home but had yet to make the time to do so. Tonight’s weather had made Joe wonder if crashing on the sofa he kept in his office would be the better option than going home.

Joe had moved the bar because the county transit authority had bought the building. Moving the bar to a development on the south side of the city meant Joe created a neighborhood pub. Joe’s now had a cadre of regulars from the condos and single-family homes next door to the small strip mall. The new Joe’s shared the strip mall with a naturopath’s office, an urgent care clinic, a dentist, a burger joint, a teriyaki restaurant, an upscale Greek restaurant, a dry cleaner’s, a financial services office, a taekwondo dojo, and a pizza delivery place.

Working with an architect friend of Mac’s, Joe had designed a wheelchair-accessible pub – one he could maneuver around on his bad days – and while the pub had a traditional U-shaped bar, it also featured a row of wheelchair-accessible seating in front of the bar, with small square tables and chairs configurable to seat multiple people. The design also extended to the restrooms, the kitchen, the office, and the employee locker room/break room. It had cost extra, but when Joe had mentioned the cost to Mac, Mac had insisted on paying it himself, wanting to offset the supposed market value the county transit authority had paid to Joe for losing his business. The accessible, energy-efficient design had won the architect an award; Joe had several customers who had come in because of that.

With the rain and wind, Joe found himself grateful he had not scheduled a band to play tonight. A crowd had packed the bar; power was out in the neighborhood next door. It was now 3:15 AM; the last of the kitchen staff had clocked out and gone home. Only Joe and Roan Gilson, his head bartender, remained. Roan was a man of medium height with black hair and a craggy face, who looked like he had answered a casting call for a grunge revivalist down to his ever-present plaid flannel shirt, which he wore over his Joe’s Bar Staff t-shirt, faded jeans, and combat boots. He had just finished the last of his duties and was clocking out when he and Joe heard a knock on the door, over the sound of the downpour.

“The hell? Joe, don’t get up; I’ll get it. I was headed out anyway.” Roan shrugged on his military-style olive green waterproof jacket and moved towards the door.

“Thanks, Roan,” Joe said gratefully from his seat at a table near the door. His stumps ached from being on his prosthetics for so long.

The younger man opened the door. “Sorry, we closed at 2 AM.”

“I don’t understand,” a French-accented woman’s voice began. “Parlez-vous français?”

“What? Lady, we’re closed.”

Sighing, Joe forced himself to stand. “I got this, Roan; go home.”

“You sure? She’s not speaking Spanish or Chinese; that much I understand.”

When Joe stepped to the threshold, he saw a petite woman wearing a soaked red wool coat. Rain had plastered her shoulder-length, silver-streaked brown hair to her head. In the bright light of the entry, Joe could see she had an oval face with a pert nose, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and full lips. The lines in her face and neck showed she was in her late fifties or early sixties. She wore a silver necklace with a distinctive black pearl pendant. She repeated her question, looking hopeful and equally certain they could not help.

Joe asked, “Comment puis-je vous aider?” He continued in French, “We’re closed, if that’s what you were hoping.”

“No, I’m lost,” she said, grateful to be conversing in the same language. “I took the wrong bus to avoid this very creepy guy and got distracted trying to turn around and I don’t know where I am. My phone is dead or else I’d call my friend to get me. Would you mind if I used your phone to call her?”

Roan glanced at Joe, not understanding what they were saying. “Do you need me to stay, boss?”

“No, I’ll be all right. Go home, Roan. Didn’t you say you had a class this afternoon?”

“Yeah, but I’m not leaving until she does. She’s pretty but pretty can kill, too. I’ve seen the movies.”

Joe didn’t roll his eyes at the younger man’s paranoia, but he was tempted. To the strange woman, he said, “Give us a second.”

In English, he asked, “Roan, we will let her in and then lock the door. Would you grab the house phone, and hand it to her?”

Nodding tightly, Roan went to retrieve the wireless device.

“I’m Joe,” Joe introduced himself. “Come in, sit down, let’s get out of the rain.”

“Noelle and thank you. You must want to get home if you’re closed.”

“It’s okay; I can stay a little longer.” Joe made his way back to the first table by the door, pulling out a chair for Noelle.

“Thank you,” Noelle said gratefully, sinking into the chair. “When I get stressed like this, I cannot speak English beyond a few simple things.” When Roan gave her the house phone, she thanked him in English.

She then dialed a number, waited a few moments, and spoke in rapid French to whoever answered. “I’m sorry, but I got lost. I don’t know where you are from where I am,” Noelle said. To Joe, she asked, “Where am I?”

“Joe’s Bar, on 131st and Crescent Drive, in the Elder Oaks Shopping Center,” Joe told her.

Noelle repeated the information, then frowned at the reply she received, then hung up, handing the phone over to Roan. “My friend says I am on the wrong side of the city from where she lives, and that it would be faster if I got a ride home,” she told Joe. “Would you be able to drive me to her place if I gave you the address?”

“Where does your friend live?” Joe asked, and when he heard the address, realized why her friend wouldn’t pick her up. It was an address on the east side of the city, where street parking was the norm and residents hoarded their parking spots like gold.

“Is that where she needs to go?” Roan asked.

Joe nodded. “Would you be willing to take her?”

Roan shook his head. “Too far out of my way. Best call her a Lyft or a taxi; that’ll get her home sooner.”

Joe sighed, realizing Roan was right. That address was also out of his way, and even with hand controls, Joe was too tired to drive. It was looking more likely he’d spend the rest of the morning sleeping on the couch in his office. To Noelle, he said, “Let me call you a taxi.”

Noelle thanked him profusely, and within half an hour, she was gone. Roan looked at Joe. “Are you crashing here tonight, or do you want me to follow you home?”

“Thanks for staying, Roan,” Joe told him firmly. “Pull the door shut behind you; I’ll lock it and set the alarms.”

“I’ll text Jen and warn her you’re here, so she doesn’t freak when she comes to do setup.”

“Appreciate that.”

Once Roan had exited, Joe locked the door, set the alarms, shut off most lights, and moved to his office. He had purposely set up his office with its own en suite, accessible bathroom, wanting to have a place he didn’t have to share with customers. Knowing he sometimes had difficulty getting home when he was tired, Joe had deliberately chosen a location with mixed-use zoning and secured the licensing to allow him to live on premises. Joe held no pretenses about his life: he slept in his office, showered in the en suite bathroom, kept a grab bag full of clothes beside his desk, and one of his two wheelchairs sat permanently in his office. On a good week, he slept in his house four nights out of seven. On bad ones, he lived in his bar.

Tonight, Joe focused on getting his prosthetics off, going through the rest of his evening routine, and going to sleep. Thoughts of Noelle kept distracting him, however, and he forced himself to remember she was a random stranger. Even though she had been a pretty woman who looked to be his contemporary in age, he had no way to get a hold of her, no way to pursue her. She probably wouldn’t want to date him anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

“Don’t be silly, Joe,” Lucy Becker, Amanda’s longtime companion and bookkeeper admonished him as they chatted via video, something Joe had embraced after realizing it allowed him to see his daughter, not just hear her voice on the phone. “It’s Thanksgiving. You go, stuff yourself full, and then you go home, having spent a few hours in the company of your friends. Why are you planning on skipping it?”

“Because I won’t know anyone there,” Joe told her.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You’ll know me, and when haven’t I been plenty enough company? Look, Viola Wright is an old friend from my theatre days. She always has a house full of grandchildren and I promised I would be there. Viola’s wondered if I’ve ever dated anyone since Marco died. I’d like to show her she need not fret so much.”

From his position at his dining room table, Joe sighed. “Is that all I’m good for?” he grumped.

“Well, if you didn’t insist on living in Seacouver instead of Torago or Paris, we could’ve been something,” Lucy noted tartly.

Joe snorted. “You told me you didn’t want to be tied down,” he reminded her. “I believe you used the phrase ‘distracted by a younger man.’”

“Darling, you must mistake me for some old hag who didn’t recognize your charms,” Lucy said loftily, pressing a hand to her chest.

Joe shook his head. He had met Lucy a decade prior when she had accompanied Amanda on a trip to Seacouver. The gracefully aging German-born woman, who had been a successful stage actress before becoming Amanda’s bookkeeper, housekeeper, and personal assistant, had infatuated Joe. Lucy was older than Joe by a decade. Her love of life, pragmatic attitude, and experience with the complications presented by being friends with an immortal had drawn Joe’s interest.

Lucy had reciprocated Joe’s infatuation, but her insistence putting her availability to help Amanda a priority over everything else had resulted in their brief affair evolving into friendship. Joe understood loyalty and friendship, especially to someone who would lie, cheat, steal, and even die to protect someone they considered a friend. He wasn’t, however, willing to go to the lengths Lucy did, despite Lucy pointing out he did the same prioritization with his bar, and that he should see it as comparable hours of and dedication to employment. Though they had tried the ‘if you’re in town, we’ll be lovers’ route, Joe wanted someone who would be less likely to leave and was more physically available. In the years since, he realized he loved Lucy more as a friend than a lover.

“Uh huh, sure. Why do you want me there, Lucy? You could bring anyone – or hell, no one. The real reason, not the one you’re trying to snow me with. Besides, we aren’t lovers anymore.”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “We could change that, you know. I’ve missed you.”

Joe looked at her. “Are you really that desperate?”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Lucy snapped, annoyed. “You have a big heart and you care about your lover’s needs in and out of bed. That’s sexy. Any woman who judges you based on your prosthetics isn’t worth it.”

“Then tell me why you’re so concerned about my Thanksgiving plans.”

“Amanda and Nick asked me to make sure you weren’t alone at Thanksgiving,” Lucy admitted. “They’re worried because they know Duncan’s not there, and they know he usually makes sure you get out of the house for the holiday and eat something good. Besides, it’s Viola’s house. You met her briefly when we were dating – we ran into her at the grocery store.”

Joe let out a breath. Duncan was spending the winter on MacLeod-owned holy ground in Scotland with his cousin. Duncan had claimed they both needed time away from the world to reconnect and heal. They would not be back until spring. Duncan’s absence meant Joe was missing his best friend, and though Amanda and Nick’s calls and emails helped bridge the gap, it wasn’t the same. He had long ago written off trying to have a relationship with his daughter; she had clarified she was not interested in one.

“And you volunteered to satisfy everyone’s worrying?”

“I will be there two days before, to help Viola make everything. Least I can do is make sure you take a day off. Your pub won’t fall apart if you’re not there, Joe.”

“Hey, I close the bar on Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Well, that’s good but you probably don’t even go home then, do you? I remember you saying the shower at the bar had more secure grab bars than the one you have at home.”

Caught by that, Joe sighed. “You know me too well, Lucy. I know I should get out, but I….”

“Have little else in your life going on?” Lucy asked knowingly.

“Hey, not everyone wants to join every senior citizen group activity club,” Joe pointed out.

“Yes, but how else are you going to meet people who are your contemporaries?” Lucy shook her head. “I swear, Joe, you’re not on death’s door. Live a little more; you might live longer that way.”

“And then what?” Joe argued sharply, raising his hands above his keyboard so Lucy could see the gesture on the webcam.

“If I remember that wallpaper correctly, you’re at home, right? Darling,” Lucy gentled her voice, “go take your legs off, take a pain pill, and sleep, in a real bed, where someone has to either ring your doorbell or call you to make you do something. You get grumpy when you haven’t had sleep.”

Joe sighed. “Sorry, Lucy. I’m not fit company this morning.”

“Well,” Lucy said briskly, “that’s what I get for calling you at an unreasonable hour for a bar owner. It’s what, 7 AM, and you closed at two, called it a night at four? Get rest. I’ll be in town two days before Thanksgiving and you can tell me if I need to find someone else.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Joe told her, certain he would be miserable otherwise. Retirement from the Watchers had given him more freedom than he had expected, with the unexpected side effect of ending some of his friendships. He missed that the most since he thought they were more than workplace buddies. “Let me know when I need to get ready.”

Pleased, Lucy beamed. “I’ll pick you up at two pm on Thanksgiving. You’re closed the whole day?”

“Yeah, I’ve never wanted to be that joint open on holidays when most everyone else is closed; it’s always felt wrong.”

“Good, I’ll see you in a week.” Lucy disconnected the video call.

Joe shut off his phone and sighed heavily. He hated admitting he needed to take time for himself, but he was tired, in pain, and not in good shape. Heeding Lucy’s advice, he sent a text to his assistant manager, Crystal, telling him he would not be in that evening, and got a “No problem, we got this!” response in reply.

* * *

Two days after her misadventure, Noelle took a break from her work to answer an incoming videocall. Her mouth widened in a smile as she saw the brown-haired, casually dressed man on video, who looked like he was calling her from the living room of his apartment.

“Nick!” she greeted in pleasure.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “You’ve been there nearly half a year. Figured out how to get around yet?”

Noelle threw one hand up in the air, careful not to jostle her phone’s camera as she gazed at the screen. “Did Carina tell you?” she asked as she sat in her bedroom.

“Tell us what?”

“She refused to pick me up because I was lost, it was late, and she didn’t want to risk losing her parking spot. Plus, she said it was too late for her to be driving. I had to take a taxi home. A kind man named Joe at a bar helped secure one for me.” For a moment, Noelle let herself remember how tired Joe had looked, how she felt like he needed a hug and had to resist giving him one, and how very kind he had been.

“How did you get lost? And which bar was it?”

“Joe’s, the sign said,” Noelle said, distracted by her adventure. “There was a man asking me questions and he scared me, so I took the bus in the wrong direction and got turned around. This city is not like Paris.”

Nick chuckled. “No, it isn’t. I haven’t been there in a decade, so I wouldn’t be much help. Are you okay? Did Joe help you?”

“Yes, he calmed me down and called me a taxi. I may have to go find that bar again and thank him.” Noelle hesitated a moment before asking, “Are you sure my immigration is final? I heard on the news they may try to go after people like me. And there was this guy at the bus stop asking me questions and I got so frazzled, I got on the wrong bus.”

“Noelle, I’m sure. We hired a lawyer to ensure everything was proper. You’re safe, and Fabien Charpentier will harm no one ever again. I told you: he’s dead and he won’t get back up again. I made sure of that.”

Noelle closed her eyes. Fabien had been so insistent he could help her, she had let him take control of her life, until she was a shadow of herself. Nick had found her a few hours after he had taken the other immortal’s head and helped her find the strength to change her life. “I cannot thank you enough for rescuing me.”

“Go listen to Joe play; I’m sure he’s wondering about you,” Nick told her. “That will be thanks enough for me. You deserve to be happy.”

“You know him?” Noelle asked in surprise.

“Amanda introduced me to him years ago. He and I have agreed to disagree on several things, but Amanda adores him and treats him like he’s a favorite uncle. I’m less enamored of him, but I really appreciate his talent as a guitarist and singer. Joe plays blues from the heart like few I’ve ever heard.”

“I should thank him for his help,” Noelle murmured. “Thanks, Nick. I should let you go; it’s late in Paris, isn’t it?”

“Not that late, but I’ll let you go, anyway. Be safe, Noelle.”

“I will. Tell Amanda I said hello. Goodbye, Nick.”

After disconnecting, Noelle sat, contemplating the many ways her life had changed in the last year. Nick had connected her with Carina Wright, who had agreed to be her immigration sponsor. Noelle was her newest employee, since Carina's company specialized in telehealth, using technology and foreign language interpreters to connect remote populations with experienced healthcare providers. The work was varied and interesting, and Carina had turned out to be a decent boss and housemate.

Yet the sense that Noelle was missing something in her life lingered. She knew herself well enough after all the counseling she had attended to know she functioned better when she had someone to take care of, which was why she had fallen so hard for Fabien’s charms. Noelle missed being part of a relationship. She wanted to be someone to come home to, to give her partner strength from knowing she would be there, and to draw comfort from his need of her. She wanted her lover to be proud of the work she did, and not be obsessed with her singing, which had been a heady dream-come-true while it lasted.

With a deep sigh, she rose from her seat on her bed and went to start on the translation work she had been ignoring for connecting with Nick. Even if Joe was a friend of Nick’s, Noelle doubted she could overcome that helpless immigrant impression she had left him with, and she was better off not going back to that bar.


	3. Chapter 3

“Who is this person to you?” Noelle asked as she got into the passenger seat of the small sedan.

Noelle was not entirely certain what Thanksgiving was, but Carina had lived in the US longer, and seemed enthused about going to someone else’s house to eat, drink, and talk. All Noelle was certain of was that she would mess up somehow and she would be instantly deported back to Paris. She did not want to go back to Paris; she had nowhere to live, and everything she owned now was here in Seacouver.

“Viola is my mother-in-law,” Carina told her, smiling. “I was married to her son, Frank. Frank died two years ago in a freak industrial accident. Are you that nervous about going you forgot what I told you already?”

“Yes. I get so nervous I forget how to speak English. I’m so glad you are fluent in French.”

“You’ve been here less than a year. Don’t worry,” Carina assured her as she checked her mirrors and then expertly navigated her car out of the cramped space in which it had sat. “Viola Wright is bilingual. Also, she has a big family, and there’s usually several friends invited too. You probably won’t remember any names when this is over.”

“Will anyone be upset if I say nothing?” Noelle worried.

Carina chuckled. “Not likely. They are a boisterous bunch, but they understand some folks are quieter than others.” She pulled to a stop at a light and glanced at Noelle. “Stop worrying. They will not bite you.”

Noelle let out a breath. “I worry they’ll think I’m strange and backward. Or worse, stupid.”

Carina grinned. “Funny, I worried the same thing when I met them fifteen years ago. You’ll be fine. If it gets too much, let me know and we can go home. No harm, no foul.” She reached out and gripped Noelle’s hand briefly in reassurance.

Noelle withheld her judgement.

They reached Viola’s home fifteen minutes later. In one of Seacouver’s oldest neighborhoods, it was one of the larger homes on the block. Carina found a parking spot up the street, and then led the way to the house. A sign on the door said guests were welcome to step inside, with a warning not to ring the doorbell or knock. The home’s interior was larger than the size of the house implied. The front parlor spilled into a formal dining room, already bursting with food on the long table, before splitting into a kitchen, a breakfast nook, and a second, larger living room. Stairs at the back of the living room led to bedrooms and down to a full, furnished basement.

Despite her reservation about a potential language barrier, Noelle quickly found herself in an animated conversation with one of Viola’s sons, who had worked briefly in Montpellier, and soon forgot to be nervous. Involved in conversation in the rear living room, she did not notice more guests. It was not until she realized the living room was full of people she did a double-take. Viola served dinner buffet-style, with a seemingly endless array of food, some of which Noelle did not recognize, but tried anyway.

* * *

Mindful of how fast Joe could maneuver, Lucy tugged him through the crowd of people filling the house. Remembering how she sailed through a room by taking advantage of the fact she was not a small woman, Joe hid a grin. He had forgotten how he had loved her for that since it usually meant the space she created in the process was large enough for him to maneuver with his cane. Finally, she stopped in the kitchen where a white-haired woman with olive-toned skin was directing two women who resembled younger versions of herself, while a middle-aged man was checking on something in a second wall-mounted oven.

“You lose the bet, Viola,” Lucy announced.

Viola looked astonished for a moment, then her eyes narrowed and spied Joe. “Introduce us, then.”

“Viola Wright, this is Joe Dawson,” Lucy said smoothly. “Joe, this is Viola.”

Joe smiled. “Pleased to meet you. We met briefly about ten years ago – one of those ‘meet your friends in a grocery store’ moments.”

Viola arched an eyebrow and looked at Lucy. “Hiding all the interesting people from me again, I see,” she told Lucy. To Joe, Viola said, “She does that, you know. Thinks I’ll be better friends with them than she will.” Her smile softened her words. “It’s not a competition, Lucy; I told you that years ago.”

“Yes, and then you bet me I knew no eligible men willing to date me.”

“Did I?” Viola looked startled. “If so, I’ve long forgotten.” She grinned at Lucy’s sputtered outrage, which was mostly for show; Joe doubted Lucy was that upset. “Joe, welcome to my house and my family. I notice you have a cane. If it’s easier for you when it comes time to eat, we have a few TV tray tables, or you can sit at the table in the kitchen.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, the table in the kitchen sounds good.” Relieved he wouldn’t have to juggle eating with maintaining his balance, Joe relaxed more.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Viola began, “why are you using a cane?”

“Lost my legs in Vietnam,” Joe replied evenly. He appreciated her directness; it meant she would not be sneaking looks at him all evening, trying to figure it out.

“In that case, I suggest you use the brown leather chair in the corner,” Viola said, nodding to a chair positioned in the corner closest to the kitchen. “My late husband used a cane, too; it was his favorite chair. Let me get my grandson to move so you can be comfortable.” Her tone brooked no protest, and Joe followed her.

Joe had his pride, but he would not pass up an offered accommodation, either. The chair turned out to be the right height, with arms to make it easier for him to sit and stand, and it had the advantage of giving him a place to hang his cane.

As Joe made himself comfortable, Viola’s grandson introduced himself as Brad, and after checking to see if Joe wanted to use the ottoman, moved the ottoman into position as a seat so he could talk to Joe. Lucy kissed Joe’s cheek, telling him she would be back with a drink for him after she said hello to others in the Wright family she knew.

“Have you known Aunt Lucy a long time?” Brad wondered.

“About twenty years now,” Joe replied. Curious, he asked the younger man, who looked like he was in his thirties, “Has she always been ‘Aunt’ to you?”

“Oh yeah,” Brad agreed. “When I was eight, she stayed with us while our parents went on a two-week anniversary trip. I thought she was magic, telling me all these stories about exotic places she had been to, and she got me thinking about wanting to get paid to travel.”

“And now?”

“Spent about a decade doing that,” Brad told him. “Fell in love, got married, and now I work for a travel agency, dealing with people who want the world but don’t want to pay for it.” He grinned. “What do you do?”

“I own a gastropub on the south side of the city called Joe’s Blues Bar.”

Brad’s eyes widened. “Damn it, I knew you looked familiar! Man, my wife is always after me for not remembering anyone’s faces or names. That’s one of my favorite places. Aunt Lucy recommended it, but she wouldn’t say why. Awesome.”

It didn’t take long before Joe and Brad were conversing like old friends about blues music. Lucy returned with the promised drink, and spent a few minutes catching up with her ‘nephew’. The Wrights were a gregarious group, with four generations represented in the house.

By the time Viola announced dinner, Brad’s wife, a Nordic-looking woman named Maja, had shooed Joe off to the kitchen table under the pretense of needing help with putting marshmallows on the sweet potatoes. The house felt full of people, and he was grateful for the oasis of the kitchen. Here, he had three of Viola’s teenage great-grandchildren, who joked this was the ‘kids’ table,’ for company. As soon as dessert appeared, however, he was left alone to consider whether he wanted to get up to get a slice of pumpkin, apple, or sweet potato pie. Feeling full, however, left him sitting, sipping the last of the prosecco they had served him with dinner.

He heard footsteps and looked up to see a woman he recognized. Shock gave way to pleasure as he noted she looked beautiful, especially now she didn’t look like a drowned rat. She had worn a green boatneck knit dress, accented by a wide leather belt and a silver necklace with a distinctive black pearl pendant. She looked oddly uncertain as if she might intrude by existing in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” she said in English, “I thought it was…” Her command of English failed her, and she finished in French, “empty. I wanted to sit somewhere quiet.”

“Then come sit,” Joe invited, speaking French and using his cane to push a chair out. “I was just trying to decide if I wanted pie or if I was full. Noelle, right?”

Startled, she asked, “How do you know my name?”

“You came to my bar a few weeks ago right at closing because you were lost. I’m Joe Dawson, in case you don’t remember my name.”

Surprised, she moved to take the seat he had indicated, and shook the hand he offered. “Noelle Étoile, since I can’t remember if I gave you my last name then. Joe, thank you. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten home. Do you know everyone here?”

“No. Lucy and Viola are friends from when they were stage actresses in the ‘60s. Lucy and I dated briefly about ten years ago and still are friends. Lucy drafted me to settle a bet.” Joe smiled. “She’s wearing a paisley scarf, if that helps you remember who she is.”

“Oh, yes!” Noelle beamed. “Thank you. It is very overwhelming. I didn’t think a house could hold this many people and I won’t remember everyone’s names.”

Joe grinned. He had grown up going to family holiday dinners like this; he knew how a small house would suddenly grow in space during those times. “Viola probably moved furniture to the garage and shifted things around so everyone would have a place to sit. Did you enjoy dinner?”

“I did. I have never seen so much food or eaten it like that. If I had known there was a table here, I might have joined you, but I got to talking with Lucy and a cousin and I didn’t think to ask.”

“Are you part of the family?”

Noelle shook her head. “No. Carina is my boss and the friend who brought me; she is Viola’s daughter-in-law. Is it ex-daughter-in-law if the person you married died? I never know how to think of that.”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” Joe chuckled. “I figure if the in-laws don’t make the ‘you’re no longer legally a part of this family’ distinction, and you’re okay continuing the relationship, then there’s no ‘ex’ involved.”

Noelle smiled. Joe liked that smile and the way it lit up her face. He wanted to be the reason to keep her smiling and forced himself to breathe deep before he let himself get carried away. He barely knew her, but he was no stranger to the pull of lust. With an effort, he focused on what she said next.

“That sounds like a lovely perspective. I almost got married, but he stood me up at the altar.”

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet there.”

“I did,” Noelle said with a nod. “I thought it was my good fortune, because it meant I could sing and travel and had no one to answer to but me.”

“Were you any good?” Joe wondered.

“I had a few singles on the radio, but they didn’t chart high enough and the record company dropped me. I thought, ‘oh well,’ and became a music teacher at a private school in Paris.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Then I met someone who wasn’t what he pretended to be, and I couldn’t stay in Paris anymore. Some friends there helped me immigrate here.”

“What do you do here now?”

“Carina has a company that does telemedicine, working with remote communities to bring healthcare to them. I write French translations of the scripts so they can broadcast the videos to French-speaking communities,” Noelle said proudly. “And I want to sing again, but nothing like I did when I was in my twenties.”

Joe smiled at that. “I know of a few choral groups in the area who would love to have a good singer.”

Noelle shook her head. “I don’t want to join a group; I can sing and play guitar. I want someone to give me that chance.”

Joe hesitated, torn between wanting to see her and offering her a business proposition. “I can help you with that. My bar hosts live music nights. We’re booked for the next several months. I know a few people who may want a new act if you want to do something sooner. I could introduce you.”

“You would do that for me?” Noelle bounced out of her chair and hugged him as best as she could despite his seated position. “Oh, thank you!”

“Let me give you my number and email so you can reach me, and we can meet again to talk about whom to approach.”

Noelle’s face fell. “I left my phone at home. Wait!” She dashed off, making Joe grin at her enthusiasm.

Lucy stepped into the kitchen. “Not eating pie?”

“Too full. You look like you want to head out.”

Nodding, Lucy grinned. “This way, I don’t get stuck helping wash dishes and move the furniture from the garage. You want to stay?”

“Give me ten minutes?” Joe bargained, wanting to give Noelle time to return. “I need to find the bathroom. If you see Noelle, would you give her my number and email? I promised her I’d arrange a time for her to talk about music. She used to sing in France.”

That gave Lucy pause. “You haven’t heard her sing?”

“Not yet, no.”

“Ask Amanda or Nick to send you links; Noelle’s good. Bathroom’s through the kitchen and just before you enter the front parlor. I’ll let her know how to get a hold of you.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”


	4. Chapter 4

Joe half-thought Lucy had failed to connect with Noelle before they left the Wright house, but a week after Thanksgiving, he received an email from Noelle. Joe set up a date to meet and tried to put seeing her again out of his mind.

Roan caught him staring off into space the morning of Noelle’s return to the bar and cleared his throat before stepping into Joe’s office, where Joe was supposedly working on finishing payroll.

Startled, Joe shook himself before asking, “Sorry, is something wrong?”

“You wanted me to remind you to send the payroll at 11. It’s 10:45; I figured I’d give you a head’s up.”

“Thanks, Roan.”

Task complete, Roan nodded and went back to the front of the house.

Joe swore. He had fifteen minutes to meet his payroll processor’s deadline for on-time delivery of payroll. Joe quickly reviewed the inputs from the software, finding nothing amiss, and submitted the information to the payroll processing company. Admitting thoughts of Noelle distracted him, he sighed heavily.

 _Get a grip, Dawson,_ he told himself, but he gave into temptation and pulled up the YouTube link Amanda had sent him. In it, a twenty-something Noelle sang a song of summer love. She had been beautiful then, and Joe thought she looked even more beautiful now. Her singing voice was a smoky alto, with a clear diction and an honesty of emotion that carried through. Like a lot of videos and songs from the 1980s, the production was very much a product of its time, with a pop-dance sound, and the emotion of the song underscored by a saxophone.

 _Face it, you’ve got a crush,_ Joe admitted. _And she’s interested, at least enough to meet you again._ _What are you going to do about it?_

Never one to dawdle once he committed to a course of action, Joe let himself contemplate his feelings for Noelle. He would help her find a place for her music; it wasn’t the style of music he preferred to showcase at his bar, but he knew a few other places in the city that would fit better. After that — well, neither of them was getting any younger. Lucy was right — he was not dead yet, and he needed someone in his life to make him remember what mattered in life.

If his feelings turned from a crush into something more substantial or went the other way, then at least he gave himself something else to think about beyond his bar and worrying about his friends.

* * *

_December 7_

“Hey, Joe,” the redheaded immortal greeted him eagerly, stepping forward to the bar where Joe was helping his morning shift bartender prepare the mixes for the Friday evening and weekend crush. The bar was technically not yet open at this hour, but fire regulations required the door remain unlocked while people were inside, working.

Hearing his name and recognizing the immortal, Joe quickly wiped his hands and moved out from behind the bar to hug the younger man, who set down his motorcycle helmet and backpack on the bar. Richie’s face was cold from the winter chill and bore the distinct impressions of having been under a motorcycle helmet. He wore a heavyweight leather jacket with a thermal liner, protective overpants, and motorcycle boots. The top of his rapier peeked out from its cross-body sheath on the backside of the full backpack. From earlier discussions, Joe knew Richie’s gear included a heated underlayer that plugged into an accessory socket on his motorcycle; Richie rode his motorcycle most days of the year unless ice, visibility, freezing conditions, and torrential rain were concerns.

“You’re looking good,” Joe noted as Richie stepped out of the hug. “Wasn’t expecting to see you in town; thought you said you would spend the winter someplace warm for a change.”

Richie shrugged. “I did, until I realized I was homesick. Don’t suppose you need an extra bartender?”

The bartender on duty answered, “Yes, he does. John quit last night and we’re now short-staffed.”

Joe shot the petite Hispanic woman a glare. “And you planned to tell me this when, Tatiana?”

“I just did,” she answered cheekily. “And besides, it’s Richie. I know he can do the work here because he’s the one that trained me to do it.” To Joe, she said, “John was supposed to work today, too. I know you said you were meeting someone at 1:30 pm and you wanted coverage. We’ve been getting more traffic on Friday lunches.”

“If you can pitch in, I’d be grateful,” Joe told Richie. “We’ll need to take a few minutes to fill out the paperwork and add you to the payroll.” He took another look at the younger man, seeing his backpack and suspecting it held most of Richie’s possessions. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Richie shook his head. “Duncan said I could stay in his place if I came back early, so I’m good. If you want me to help today, do you mind if I store my stuff in your office and use it to change into something I don’t mind getting dirty?”

“Not at all; come on back,” Joe invited. “We’ll do the paperwork too while you’re there. Tatiana, will you be okay without me?”

Tatiana did a little dance. “Yay, we’re getting Richie back! I can hold the fort for twenty minutes.”

Chuckling at the young woman’s behavior, Joe led the way to the back of the bar.

Since Richie had worked in the bar earlier in the year, Joe reactivated his record in the system and sent his payroll processor a note telling them he had rehired Richie. As Joe worked on the computer, Richie stripped out of the layers of motorcycle gear, starting with his boots, piling it all in an out-of-the-way corner. He also took off his jeans, revealing he had worn thermal leggings, which he now took off and added to the pile. He then put his jeans back on, took the Joe’s Bar Staff t-shirt Joe tossed him, and put on the pair of sneakers he had pulled out of his backpack. As he changed clothes, Richie asked, “So anything new with you?”

“Not really. Lucy was here for Thanksgiving and dragged me along.” Joe smiled as he thought of Noelle.

“Oh?” Richie asked, interested. “Are you two getting back together?”

“What? No,” Joe said, startled by that assumption. Curious, he asked, “Were you hoping we would?”

Richie grinned. “Amanda is, but I’ll let her know you aren’t.”

Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you aren’t Phase 2 of her plans to make sure I’m not despondent and alone. Your last email said Cabo San Lucas was fun and exciting. Something about a fierce Mexican woman?”

Richie’s grin widened. “She had a boyfriend she forgot to tell me about. Man, that was not a pretty scene. She accused me of shaming her Mexican boyfriend,  as if it’s my fault he was terrible in bed.” He shook his head at the memory. “Got out while the getting was good. I didn’t get Amanda’s call until after I crossed the border.”

“Uh huh, sure,” Joe said dubiously, but he couldn’t quite hide his pleasure at the thought his friends cared enough to gang up on him this way.

“Joe,” Richie said seriously, “I was planning to come home anyway. Mexico’s fun but I realized I missed home. Plus, I got a contract for information security work that starts after the new year.”

Mollified by that, Joe gave the other man a high-five. After several years of wandering the world, bartending and repairing motorcycles to pay the bills, Richie had returned to Seacouver. He had surprised and delighted Duncan by getting a degree in information security, then gotten a job working for a contracting firm that specialized in placing computer professionals. Between assignments and sometimes just because Joe asked, Richie often pitched in to help Joe, never making it seem like a hardship; Joe was grateful for that.

“Congrats,” Joe told him now. “I get to have you until January 1?”

Richie nodded. “And a little after, if you need it. I don’t start the new contract until January 15.” Now dressed, he asked, “Speaking of work, anything new I should know about?”

“If you haven’t eaten, go say hi to Jamie and ask him to make you something before the lunch rush hits. You have–” Joe glanced at the clock on his computer “–twenty minutes. We open at 10:30.”

“Got it. Thanks, Joe.”

Relieved that his staffing issue was resolved so neatly, Joe made his way back to the front. Time quickly flew by, and not until Richie called his name did Joe realize what the time was.

“Hey, Joe, a Frenchwoman named Noelle is asking for you,” Richie snagged Joe’s attention as he stood in the back of the pub, signing for a delivery of the food products they used.

“Thanks, Richie,” Joe said gratefully. He could see his friend had questions, but he respectfully chose not to ask them. “Please make sure this food gets stored properly?”

“Will do,” Richie took over hauling the cases of meat and other products to their proper locations.

Joe made his way to the front and took a moment to see where Noelle had sat. She had chosen a table near the stage. At the sound of his approach, Noelle looked up, and the smile she gave him took Joe’s breath away.

“Hello, Joe,” she greeted. “It seems we have several friends in common.”

He took the seat across from her and sat down. “Yes, it does. Does it bother you?”

Noelle’s smile widened. “No, because it helps me. It means I don’t have to wonder as much about you. I asked Nick if you knew his secret and he told me yes.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Three years,” Noelle replied. “When I told Nick and Amanda I wanted to leave Paris, they immediately worked on a way I could immigrate and that’s how I met Carina Wright.”

Tatiana chose that moment to interrupt. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked Noelle.

“A glass of pinot noir, please,” Noelle requested.

“Joe, did you want anything?” Tatiana asked.

“Water, please, and the cheeseboard plate.”

Tatiana nodded and left.

Relieved to know he wouldn’t have to hide yet another secret from someone, Joe relaxed further. “Nick’s a good man.”

“He said you and he have a disagreement. If you don’t mind me asking, what is it about?”

“Amanda asked me for a favor.”

Noelle laughed and held up a hand. “That’s enough reason. I do not understand how Nick manages not to let Amanda drive him crazy,” Noelle exclaimed, switching back to French. “She leaves him to handle everything and then takes credit when it goes well. Or she means well, and something goes wrong.”

Joe chuckled. “They’ve been together almost two decades now; he’s used to it. Amanda’s a force of nature. I fully expect to see her and Nick at Christmas.”

“That’s a long trip,” Noelle exclaimed. “And expensive. Why would they when they have a business to run?”

Joe grinned. “Because that’s the kind of friends they are.”

“Well,” Noelle said firmly, “I must tell them they don’t have to.”

“Good luck with that,” Joe said sincerely as Tatiana delivered what they had ordered. He waited until Tatiana was out of earshot before asking, “How did you find out Nick’s secret?”

Noelle hesitated and looked down at the table before taking a deep breath. “Nick rescued me from another immortal.”

When she did not elaborate but instead sat silently, as if waiting for him to ask a million questions, Joe’s heart sank as his mind leapt to the obvious conclusion. “I’m sorry, Noelle. I’m glad Nick was there for you.”

“It’s one reason I haven’t gone back to singing or teaching music. I can’t,” she took another deep breath, “sing without thinking about the bastard who hurt me. He wanted me to be a professional singer again. But I want to try. I miss it.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier in a group? You wouldn’t have to feel alone, and you’d get support from others in the group.” He chuckled roughly. “Trust me, some days, I don’t want to be the one singing and playing. This city has several large amateur and professional choral groups that regularly perform several times a year. I have several friends in the Seacouver Songbirds, which is a community show choir. You have to audition, but if you were a professional singer before, I don’t think you’d have any problems passing.”

Noelle sipped her wine before answering. “Maybe. I will take that under consideration before asking you to use your contacts.” She leaned back in her chair, thinking.

Joe ate cheese from the board before pushing it towards her in invitation. She took one slice of cheese absently, chewing it as she continued to think.

“Would it be too much to presume you’re familiar with current music?” she asked finally. “If it’s a show choir, they will probably want familiarity with recent musicals and popular music.”

“Only to the extent it relates to jazz and blues music. I’ll ask my staff; they’re the ones who usually help me stay relevant.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Noelle demurred.

Joe shook his head. “It’s not a problem. We usually discuss music anyway.” Unwilling to let the conversation end, he asked, “Do you need to get back to work at a certain time?”

“I usually take Friday afternoons off,” Noelle explained. “Carina knows I work hard the other hours of the week, so as long as I work at least 30 hours and get all my work done, I am free to choose my hours.”

“Nice,” Joe remarked. “I own this bar, and I’m here a lot. I don’t do well sitting around doing nothing, especially when I’m by myself.”

Noelle leaned in. “Do you ever get annoyed with the people who think once you’re over a certain age, you should be content with sitting and doing nothing?”

Joe’s mouth curved. “Oh, yeah. Like you’re somehow less for wanting to keep working. I never had much growing up, and I have money saved, but it’s not enough to retire on, not that I want to retire if it means I’m supposed to fade quietly into nothing.”

Noelle’s eyes reflected irritation, and she tossed one hand in the air to underscore her words. “I’m sixty, not ninety. Can you believe the immigration officer asked me if I wanted to go to America to retire? I asked him if something was wrong with wanting to leave the French way of doing things. He had no answer for me.”

“I have a friend who has been trying to convince me for several years I should retire to a country with better healthcare services for the disabled,” Joe noted. “I keep telling him I like my doctors here just fine.”

Noelle froze. “Your walk,” she began, trying to come up with a polite phrasing. “It’s not a hip replacement that’s causing you to need a cane?”

“No. I stepped on a landmine in Vietnam; they amputated both of my legs below the knee.”

Noelle blinked. “And you work a job that requires you stand for many hours a day? How are you not in pain?” She looked astonished and concerned.

“Some things are worth it,” Joe replied. “At least here, I can enforce the distances between the tables and make sure the pathways are clear. I don’t hire staff who won’t respect me, my limitations, and the rules under which this bar operates.”

“Have you had any problems?” Noelle wondered.

“A few,” Joe admitted. “They rarely last long as staff or customers. I had more problems in my old location – the crowd there was a little rougher and I didn’t think too much about the space’s accessibility.” He smiled ruefully. “I was also twenty years younger back then and a little more mobile than I am now.”

Noelle frowned. “Is there anything anyone can do to make it easier for you?”

“Some,” Joe admitted. “A lot it is stuff I should do: sitting more, exercising, not trying to prove I’m not sixty-nine and acting like I’m half my age. Some of it is stuff I don’t want to go through, like getting refitted for new prosthetics or living on pain medicine.” He offered Noelle a rueful smile. “I’m a stubborn old man sometimes.”

Noelle chuckled. “We all get set in our ways as we get older.” She met his gaze. “If I can be of any help, let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Joe ignored the timer ticking away in his head, wanting to enjoy the moment with Noelle before the crowds showed up for Friday evening dinner and drinks. “Have you done much exploring of the city?”

Noelle shook her head. “Carina doesn’t like to do that thing. I keep wanting to go to the art museum, because I read it has a special exhibition of Tessa Noel’s works, and I always loved her sculptures. Carina doesn’t like the one in the park closest to her house – she says it’s ugly.”

Joe smothered a laugh. “From what I’ve heard, Tessa didn’t always like her work once she finished it.”

“Did you know her?” Noelle wondered.

“Not directly,” Joe admitted. “Richie, one of my bartenders, knew her better.” He paused. “If you want to go some Friday afternoon to the art museum, I’d love to take you.”

“I’d love that. What about next Friday?”

“Sounds great. Meet you there at 1 pm?”

“I’ll let you know if something comes up. And I keep getting looks from your staff, which I suspect means they need you, but they don’t want to interrupt us.”

“I’ll go see what they need. Please stay if you like; the wine and the cheese is on the house.”

“No, I should get back. I promised Carina we would check out the new Indian restaurant that opened a few blocks from her house, and I would like to get there before it gets too busy.” Noelle rose as Joe did. “Thank you, Joe. I look forward to seeing you again.”

“The same. I’ll email you the list of songs.” They shook hands rather than exchange _la bise_ , but the look Noelle gave Joe as they did so made his pulse race. He breathed in and saw the same desire echoed on her face. Unwilling to push his luck, he let go of Noelle’s hand and decided next Friday couldn’t come soon enough.

“Be safe getting home, Noelle. Text me when you get there, please?”

“Of course.” Noelle leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he breathed in deeply the scent of her vanilla-and-jasmine perfume.

Once Noelle left, Joe bussed the table, grabbing the wine glass Noelle used. He eyed Richie and Tatiana, who were watching him work.

“What?” he asked, irked by their expectant gazes.

“Serious sparks there, Joe,” Richie commented as he grabbed one mixer he had made and put it in the fridge under the bar. “What’s her name, and when’s your next date?”

“Noelle Étoile, and next Friday, not that it’s any of your business,” Joe told him.

Richie laughed. “Oh, as if you wouldn’t ask me who I was dating.”

“Who are you dating?” Tatiana asked as she unloaded the dishwasher and waved off the resultant steam.

“No one,” Richie replied. “You still seeing that dude in the Navy?”

“No, he has a wife he forgot to mention,” Tatiana said sourly. “Why can’t we date?”

Richie and Joe both chuckled. “Because it’s against my rules,” Joe interjected.

“And I like you, Tatiana, but given you’ve asked me countless times when I’m giving up motorcycle riding because it’s dangerous, we’d never work out,” Richie added gently.

“True,” Tatiana said cheerfully. “And you’d hate the way I snore, ‘cause everyone does.”

Amused at his crew’s antics, Joe told them firmly, “Enough of that. Make sure we’re ready for the evening crew. Tatiana, you’re off the clock at three?”

“Yeah. Crystal, Wes, and Roan are due in after me. Roan comes on shift at three-thirty.”

“Good. Richie, that means you’re off when Roan comes in, unless you want to pull a double today.”

Richie shook his head. “Drove most of the night to get here; haven’t even been home yet. Something told me you needed me here.”

Joe shook his head. “Or was it someone named Amanda?”

Richie grinned. “I’ll never tell.”

Later that day, Richie was in the office, putting on his gear, when Joe stepped inside. “Hey, be careful out there. Rain has started, and the forecast is calling for random wind gusts.”

“Thanks, Joe, but I’ve ridden in worse.” He zipped his left motorcycle boot before asking, “You really like Noelle? Last time I saw you light up like that, it was Lucy.”

“I do,” Joe replied. “Lucy has her unshakable loyalty to Amanda, and that impeded things. I want someone who wants to be with me, who’ll remind me why I should come home more than a few times a week. Can’t feel someone’s love through Facetime; it’s not the same.”

“But you’re still friends.”

Joe nodded. “Are you going somewhere with this, kid?”

Richie shook his head. “Nah. Just curious. You know not everyone’s comfortable when someone’s ex is in the picture.”

“Speaking of – is there any truth to the rumor you and Michelle Webster hooked up?”

Richie smiled briefly. “Aren’t you the one you recommended I not kiss and tell?”

“Humor an old man.”

“Yeah, but it felt wrong somehow, like I’d slept with my sister or something weird like that. She said it felt the same to her, too, so we became friends instead.” He shook his head. “I tried, Joe, to get her over her fear of holding a sword and playing the Game, but she couldn’t do it. She died about six months after that. Headhunter lured her off holy ground.” He met the ex-Watcher’s gaze. “Amanda avenged her. Some people aren’t cut out to be immortal.”

“Do you wish Michelle would have come to terms with it?”

Richie shrugged. “Sure. It would’ve been nice to have someone my age, especially someone who grew up here, to compare notes about how hard it is to look like a teenager or early twenty-something and have people take you seriously, how much Paris wasn’t Seacouver, stuff like that, but–” He shrugged again. “Michelle never saw immortality as this amazing, magical opportunity.”

“You still see it that way, even after all that’s happened to you?”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded. “It’s like I explained to Nick: I get a chance to change the world, fight the good fight, and meet interesting people. If I had died when I was supposed to, then all I’d be is another statistic about random crime.”

“How did Michelle see it?”

Richie sighed heavily. “As repeatedly reliving a nightmare. She told me she begged Amanda to put her somewhere safe. Amanda hoped by meeting me, Michelle would see she had a future, one that didn’t involve staying on holy ground forever.” Richie shook his head, his hand stopping on zipping up his jacket. “Man, I haven’t thought about her in a decade.”

“Sorry if I brought up bad memories.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Richie hastened to assure him, but the look on his face was far away. He lingered in the memory a moment longer before asking, “If you met one of us and didn’t know it, do you think you could figure it out?”

“Probably,” Joe said, startled by the question. “We used to joke about ‘how to tell an immortal in twenty minutes or less.’ Why, is someone else here I don’t know about?”

Richie smiled briefly. “Not unless it’s someone on your staff I haven’t met yet.”

Joe studied the way the other man did not finish dressing for his ride. “Something you want to tell me?”

“Other than ‘don’t sleep here tonight,’ which both Roan and Tatiana asked me to say? Nah.” Richie flashed Joe a smile, finished getting ready for his ride, picked up his backpack, and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow to open. Goodnight, Joe, and thanks.”

“You’re welcome, kid. Be careful out there.”

“You too.” Joe didn’t believe Richie had told him the whole story, but he let the white lie stand. The young immortal would eventually tell him; demanding the whole story resulted in Richie digging in his heels and refusing to say anything. More pressing in Joe’s mind was the need to know who hurt Noelle.

Nick would not take Joe’s call, so Joe didn’t bother trying. As a retired Watcher, Joe had no access to the Watcher database, but he knew who did. Glancing at the clock, he checked the time and realized his hunt for answers would have to wait until after happy hour and the dinner rush. The need to get through both obliterated Joe’s curiosity and he forgot he had questions to ask.


	5. Chapter 5

The open-plan condo Duncan had chosen as his home for the last decade was like what he had owned before, with several crucial differences. One, the retail establishment on the ground floor was a flower shop, not an antique store or an art gallery. Richie had met the man who owned the flower shop and had bonded with him over a love of motorcycles. Two, the garage space was underground, a throwback to when the building had served as a small office building. Three, a professional security firm monitored the building. Richie used his passkey to open the garage gate; as soon as he passed through, the garage door closed behind him. He parked his motorcycle next to Mac’s classic convertible before again using the passkey and a physical key to unlock the stairs up to the condo unit. Four, the condo now was two stories, with the living room, kitchen, laundry, and bathroom on the first floor and three bedrooms on the second. Richie appreciated Mac had decided against putting his bed in the living room; it meant he was less likely to walk into some love scene, as he had accidentally done once too often.

Comfortable with the space, Richie unlocked the door to the first floor, flipping on the lights as he did so. He found nothing amiss. The maid service Duncan had hired to keep the space free of dust bunnies had been through recently; it still smelled faintly of cleaner. Richie sighed in relief, glad he didn’t have to be the one chasing dust bunnies.

He headed up to his room, amused and relieved that he would – no matter how old he was or where Duncan was living – always have a room in Duncan’s house. Richie usually took advantage of it when he was between apartments. Now, he stripped off his motorcycle gear, hanging it up in the enormous walk-in closet of his bedroom. He then took a shower, changing into the clean PJ’s he had left in one of built-in drawers in the closet. Then, and only then, did he head out to the living room and make a phone call.

“It’s 3 AM, Richie,” a male voice grumped. “And this better be good.”

“Sorry, Methos, but you know the answer to this, and I can’t call Connor or Duncan.”

“Why not Amanda or Nick?”

“Because Amanda’s already worried about Joe, and I don’t want her here. I know what time it is in Paris, and that means Nick’s at work, running Sanctuary.” Aware Methos would not tell him where he was, only that it was late, Richie didn’t bother asking. “That leaves you or Matthew McCormick. If you’d rather I ask him–”

“If you wanted his opinion, you’d have called him, not me,” Methos countered. “And I’m awake now, so you might as well tell me what it is then.”

“If someone is already over fifty, what are their chances of still being a pre-immortal?”

“Same as they were when they were under fifty. Their chances of finding someone willing to teach them what they are, and how to survive when they’re that age already, go exponentially down, however.”

“You think it makes that big of a difference?”

“It could. A pre-immortal at fifty will have fifty years of preconceived notions of what they’re capable of. Depends on the person. Some people get stuck on needing an equal, even if your experience is greater. Plus, not everyone will teach someone who’s already half a century old – it means the new immortal stands out like a sore thumb. Most of us die between sixteen and thirty-five, on average. Not many of us who can relate to being around fifty years old when we died. Ramirez was one exception.”

Richie swore. “Know anyone else, preferably still alive?”

“I’d have to check. Why? Did you find someone who died that age?”

“No, but I’m sure Joe’s falling in love with someone who’s his age and going to be one of us.”

A curse in a language Richie did not recognize filled his ears. “Well. You going to tell him?”

“I don’t know if I should,” Richie admitted. “And maybe I’m just seeing immortals and pre-immortals everywhere.”

“Not likely,” Methos noted. “You’ve taken too many heads not to be sure.”

Richie sighed at that answer. “Thanks, Methos. Sorry to bother you so late.”

“No, it’s good. You’re thinking. I don’t know if I like that about you or not.”

Richie smothered a laugh. Twenty years of knowing the ancient immortal had only reinforced an impression that Methos was a cat cursed to live out his eight remaining lives as an immortal. “It’s early stages yet; it might be nothing.”

“Then leave it be and see what happens,” Methos advised. “You’re there. That means there’s one of us who can explain she must either take the Game seriously or die permanently. Joe won’t date her if she becomes one of us; he still holds to the notion there should be lines between immortals and mortals, as if he hasn’t blurred them himself. Don’t rush it. I’m going back to bed.” Methos disconnected the line.

Reassured by that, Richie stared at his phone before deciding he would call for a pizza. Even before he had called Methos, he had been inclined to let matters happen as they would. He saw no advantage in telling Noelle, other than to make her regret becoming involved with Joe. That seemed like a bad way to go, especially since Noelle had no reason to trust him.

* * *

Joe surprised and delighted Noelle with his knowledge of the art in the museum, but both were wowed by the featured exhibit of Pacific Northwest tribal art, some of which had been commissioned specifically for the exhibit. It surprised Noelle to find that Tessa Noel’s art had no higher precedence in the museum than any other artist. Somehow, she had expected that given Tessa had been a local artist, she would have more. When she commented to Joe, he chuckled.

“The art museum would not have let her be the star at the expense of the other local artists,” Joe pointed out.

Noelle made a face at that. “I suppose. Did you ever meet her?”

“A few times,” Joe admitted. “I owned a bookstore back then, and she liked to read.”

“Why did you stop owning a bookstore?”

“I’d like to say I saw the day when buying books would become passé,” Joe joked, “but a friend of mine heard me play, asked me what I would do if I had enough money to put together a dream I’d had. Mac helped me secure the loan for my first bar.”

“Mac?”

“Duncan MacLeod. He was Tessa’s partner, Richie’s guardian, and he’s become a good friend.”

“Is he still your business partner?”

Joe grinned. “No, another friend insisted on helping. Ben pretends he’s just here to watch the world pass by, but he’s deeply loyal to his friends. Richie says Ben’s like a feral cat you rescued – not sure who to trust, but willing to get out of the rain and cold.”

“Richie is…?”

“The redheaded man who was working the bar when you came in the other day.”

“Oh! He seemed worried about you. Has he known you a long time?”

“Yes.” Unwilling to get into just how long, Joe redirected her attention. “We’ve gone through the entire museum. Did you want to get coffee and talk more?”

“I’d love that,” Noelle said eagerly.

They walked the short distance and after getting drinks, found seats at a table near the window where Joe could safely prop his cane against the wall of glass.

“How long have you lived here?” Noelle wondered.

“Probably too long,” Joe answered with a laugh. “I can’t remember the exact year anymore, but it was in the ‘80’s.”

“You are so fluent in French,” Noelle noted. “When did you learn?”

“When I was nineteen, someone offered me a job that took me to Paris,” Joe replied. “The job came with health benefits. I wasn’t stupid – I knew the US government wouldn’t do much for me once I came home as a disabled veteran – so I took the job. In exchange for the post-amputation health care I needed and paying for my room and board, my initial work assignment was to learn French by translating old journals.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Joe nodded. “I would’ve gone home to Chicago and probably never left,” he told Noelle now. “Might not be alive today, given the way I was after the war.” He shrugged. “Having that job meant I had reasons to keep going. It also led me to living here. Speaking of, how long have you lived here?”

“Six months,” Noelle replied, taking a sip of her coffee. “My English is better than it used to be, but under stress, I lose it.”

Joe smiled. “I was like that when I was learning French,” he commiserated. He loved the sound of Noelle’s voice; loved that they were conversing in an unconscious mix of languages. He leaned in closer. “What do you love about being here?”

“Everything. Isn’t that the expected answer?” Noelle said immediately, grinning. “No, what I love is that I don’t live in fear anymore, waiting for Fabien to come home. I still get a little nervous when I see someone who reminds me of him, but I don’t think that’s something I’ll ever completely get over.”

Joe nodded his understanding and took a deep breath. “I know it might be a little too soon, but if you’re interested in dating again, I’d like to be your guy.”

Startled by his statement, Noelle took a moment to process. Then she smiled and reached across the table. “I’d love that. Do you want have dinner with me next week?”

“When and what time?” Joe asked.

“Is Tuesday night too soon?”

“No,” Joe replied, not caring he would have to arrange coverage with his assistant manager. “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

“How about six-thirty?”

“Six-thirty it is,” Joe said. He glanced at the time on his watch and realized that if he wanted to ask his assistant manager to cover for him, he needed to return to the pub. “And as much as I’d like to spend the rest of the afternoon with you, I need to get to the pub.”

Noelle smiled. “Not a problem. I can take the bus back from here.”

“I drove; it’s not a problem for me to drop you off.”

Noelle shook her head. “I have a few errands to run I should take care of before I go home.” Taking advantage of their seated positions, she leaned in and surprised Joe by kissing him chastely. The brief contact left Joe wanting more. “Be safe going home.”

“You too.”


	6. Chapter 6

Being with Noelle quickly became the highlight of Joe’s week. Out of respect for her, Joe slept at his house instead of his office so none of his bar staff would accidentally disturb them, as they sometimes did when he slept in his office. She was a passionate, tender lover, who respected his limitations, and showed him his fears about her freaking out over having sex with a disabled man were unfounded. Her gentleness and willingness to learn what positions worked for them went a long way to make him fall in love with her. It wasn’t long before she was sleeping over at his house (not that they slept a lot) and learned his quirks. Joe adored the way she curled around him after they had sex, tucking her legs up so as much of his body could reach hers. He also loved how she would sing in the shower when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, but his house was not that large, and the sound carried. He found himself wanting to see her smile, hear her laugh, and feel her body next to his. She quickly became the focus of his free time.

Consequently, Joe was less present in his bar. He played tourist with Noelle, showing her the art, restaurants, and many other sights of the city he loved. Joe expected someone in his bar to comment on his more frequent absences as the weeks passed. Roan, Tatiana, and the other staff seemed happy to see he wasn’t sleeping in the bar as often, but that seemed to be the extent. Joe should have expected Richie to wait until he was no longer an employee before he commented.

“Joe, we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, so if you’re here to complain about something, have a seat,” Joe told the other man, who took the offered chair in the pub’s office. “And talk.”

“How serious are you about Noelle? You’ve seen her every week since Thanksgiving, and I know she’s come in just to hear you play. She sings along when she thinks no one is watching and then looks mortified if anyone catches her. Did she sing before?”

“Yeah, she had two pop singles on the French charts back in the 1980s.”

“Nice,” Richie remarked. “How come you haven’t asked her to sing with you? Or is it because you’re involved, and you don’t want to mix business with pleasure?”

“Yes, I’m serious, and yes, I don’t want to mix business with pleasure.” Joe leaned back in his chair. It was a Monday afternoon, the time when Joe usually finished the order for the upcoming week, but Richie had insisted on helping with that before clocking out and considering his work for Joe complete. “Why does it matter to you?”

“Because I haven’t seen you like this in a long time,” Richie noted. “You’re glowing with happiness. I think I may need shades if this keeps up."

Joe barked a laugh at Richie's observation even as he acknowledged it with a nod. Richie had been around to witness his affair with Lucy.

“Noelle’s special.” He narrowed his eyes and considered why Richie might be more concerned. “Please tell me she’s not immortal.”

Richie hesitated, trying to decide whether to say something. “No, she’s not.”

Joe glared at him. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I asked Nick if he knew her, and he said he rescued her from an immortal named Fabien Carpenter. As in – the only way he knew she existed was because he took Fabien’s head. Nick said she took months to not to go to her knees when he walked into a room.”

The implications of that spun out in Joe’s head. Anger surged through him, and he breathed carefully, promising himself a session with his guitar later. “I take it Nick made sure she got professional help for that.”

“Yeah. Just wanted to pass that info to you in case you hadn’t heard; I know you and Nick aren’t close.”

Richie had spent three years working for Amanda and Nick at Sanctuary. Joe suspected that Amanda had asked him to help her convince a newly immortal Nick to forgive her and at least, learn how to fight with a sword before walking away. Richie had claimed he had needed a few years’ break out of the younger Highlander’s shadow and ‘just happened’ to be there when Nick needed an immortal other than Amanda to convince him that life as an immortal was worth living. The time had resulted in Nick and Richie becoming good friends.

Joe grimaced at the reminder that Nick did not trust him. “Thanks. That explains why Nick wanted to help her. I won’t treat Noelle like she’s fragile, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I will also respect she’s been through hell.” He studied Richie as he put on his motorcycle gear. “That all you wanted to say? Usually, you’re a hard man to silence.”

Richie zipped up his thermal underlayer before responding. “Just… sometimes people cling to the first nice person to show them interest. It doesn’t always mean anything other than they’re lonely.”

Joe eyed him. “Do you honestly think I’ve gotten to sixty without knowing that?”

Richie held up a hand. “No offense, Joe, but I’ve dated enough people who weren’t aware that’s what they were doing. Age, as Methos keeps reminding me, isn’t a barometer of wisdom.”

Mollified by that, Joe told Richie, “I’ll remind you of that when you fall in love with someone and want to spend forever with them.”

Richie chuckled. “Not in my plans, Joe.”

“That’s the funny thing about love: it happens when you’re not planning for it.”

“Are you falling for Noelle?”

“Already there,” Joe admitted, surprising himself by acknowledging it. “Not sure if she’s ready to hear it. We’re not getting any younger, but I also…” He took a deep breath. “Don’t want to scare her off.”

“You’ll know the right moment,” Richie said confidently. He glanced at his phone, checking the weather forecast, before slipping it into the pocket of his winter-weight motorcycle jacket, which he then put on. He took a few more minutes to finish dressing for his ride out in the January cold, but he left, leaving Joe wondering if Richie had more to say and then changed his mind.

Putting it out of his mind, Joe rose. He had promised himself he would play for an hour before the usual Monday night football crowd showed up, wanting to watch the game.

Leaving the bar, Richie pointed his motorcycle in a random direction, troubled. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Joe Noelle would be immortal someday. It seemed like a cruel honesty. He wished he could call Duncan and ask questions, but his teacher had left specific instructions that unless the world was on fire, he and Connor were not to be disturbed. Richie had learned over the years that if he called Methos once for advice, the oldest immortal expected him to take it, period, end of story. Calling him again would end with Methos telling him to stop being an idiot and Methos showing up to see if the situation called for an intervention. Since Richie did not want that intervention to happen, calling Methos was out of the question. His other option was calling Matthew McCormick, who was older than either Connor or Duncan, but Richie remembered how Matthew assumed he was calling on behalf of Cory or because of Cory and decided against it.

Then, as Richie pulled to a stop at a stoplight, he smacked himself for not realizing he had other options.

Checking the time and where he was, he looped around until he was on course to head home. Once there, he shed his motorcycle gear and mentally calculated to adjust for the time zone difference.

“Hey, Richie,” Nick greeted. “How’s the weather in Seacouver?”

“Winter but not raining,” Richie said cheerfully. “Do you have a few minutes to talk? I know it’s nearly midnight there.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“What, I can’t call and say hello to one of my best friends?”

Nick chuckled. “You sounded like Amanda there, Richie. Are you sure you aren’t picking up her bad habits?”

“Says the man who’s spent most of the last two decades in her company,” Richie riposted. “If anyone’s picking up her bad habits, it would be you, not me.”

“Fair enough. You okay? You usually call earlier my time. Did someone challenge you?”

“Nah, the immortal headhunter beacon appears to be off for now, but it’s Seacouver. Not going to last forever, unfortunately. Someone always shows up.”

“Find anyone pretty?”

“Not enough to do more than flirt,” Richie said, shrugging. “Besides, I will be head-deep in a new job here in a week. No sense in trying to juggle a new relationship at the same time. I called because you mentioned you wanted me to look out for a friend of yours named Noelle.”

“Yes. Is she okay?” Fear filled Nick’s voice. “She’s not hurt, is she?”

“No. Joe Dawson’s in love with her.”

“Damn it,” Nick swore. “I thought he was in Chicago.”

“No, he’s been living here most of the time I’ve known him,” Richie said, “except for a few winters in Paris. You ever going to forgive him for putting his friendship to Amanda above telling you the truth?”

Nick sighed. “I might have to, if Noelle’s seeing him. I was afraid she would fall for the next immortal that showed up. Fabien was debating when to kill her, so she would see him as her miracle provider.”

“You haven’t told her that part, I assume?”

“No.” Nick sighed in frustration. “As much as I wished someone would’ve told me sooner, I get why Amanda and all the other immortals I met that first year didn’t tell me. Any disclosure before that would mean I’d be more reckless or I’d assume the only reason she befriended me was because I’d be immortal.”

“Which wasn’t the case for you,” Richie reminded him. “Whereas it was a deciding factor in Duncan taking me instead of Connor.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed. “I don’t want to tell Noelle because I don’t know if it would do her much good to know. I mean, it was the reason Fabien got interested in her; he liked having a woman to order around, thought it would be cool to have one live as long as he did, but…” Nick sighed. “I keep wondering if I might be a hypocrite for not telling her. The longer I say nothing, the more I wonder if she’ll trust me after her first death, and odds aren’t in my favor. When she was here, I rationalized it as, ‘she knows I’ve protected her and helped her,’ but now she’s there, it’s harder to justify.”

“That’s not exactly helping,” Richie noted. “Let me ask you this: why would you tell her now, and what would make you do it?”

“Outside of her being one of us?” Nick exhaled heavily. “If it was me, I’d want to know so I can plan. Like knowing if you had cancer even if it wasn’t a treatable one. Speaking of – has any of us died of cancer and then woken up immortal?”

Richie made a face at that. “That would seriously suck ass, especially if you went through chemotherapy or experimental treatments. If that was me, it would piss me off if that happened. But yes. Amanda died of the Black Plague, so if she died of a disease –”

“She what?”

The absolute shock in Nick’s voice made Richie pause. “All this time and you didn’t know she died of the plague?”

“No, she told me only a violent death would trigger immortality.”

Richie stared at his phone. “No. I took the head of someone whose first death was an outbreak of the flu in 1918.”

“Fuck. No wonder it pissed you off she didn’t shoot me sooner. I thought you were just, well, pissed she didn’t take me out of my misery.”

“Well, yeah, there was that, but I was also angry she dragged you to doctor after doctor, hoping you wouldn’t die when she knew better. Then again, I’ve learned sometimes the older you are, the more likely you are to get stuck in a mindset.”

Nick chuckled roughly. “Sometimes, when you talk like that, I forget I’m eight years older than you.”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, well, some days I feel older. But getting back to Noelle – if I told her, would she take the news well?”

“Probably not. She knows about us, thanks to Fabien, but she only trusted me and by extension Amanda because I rescued her. I don’t know how she would react to another immortal, especially a guy, given her history.”

Richie contemplated this information while considering his interactions with Noelle. “She sees me as just one of Joe’s bartenders. I probably don’t rate high on her ‘people she needs to know well’ list.”

“Do you need me there?”

“No,” Richie decided. “She’d wonder why you came halfway around the world.”

“What, I can’t visit my best friend?” Nick shot back, deliberately echoing his earlier statement.

“It’s not my birthday, and it’s past the holidays,” Richie pointed out. “You’d have to be here because you had to work the holidays, which she would understand given your history with her, but then she’d ask who is running Sanctuary in your absence. The only real justification at this point would be a wedding or a funeral.”

“That leaves you in the same boat as me,” Nick noted. “Wondering if to say anything to Noelle.”

“Yeah.” Richie ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “But I don’t have to talk to her. I have to figure out what to say to Joe.”

“Good luck with that,” Nick said sincerely. “And Richie – thanks for letting me know how Noelle’s doing.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t work too hard.”

“Never,” Nick promised.

Richie laughed. “Good night, Nick. Watch your head.”

“You too, Richie.”

Feeling slightly better for having conversed with the other immortal, Richie contemplated his next move. He decided he would wait until after the next time he saw Noelle, just to confirm he wasn’t dreaming he had felt the telltale signal of her pre-immortality, before he told Joe.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thursday, January 24_

Noelle loved that the building in which she worked was also home to both a coffee shop and one of the city’s ubiquitous teriyaki joints, which meant she could get her croissant fix in the morning and a cheap lunch. Next door was an independent bookstore which Noelle enjoyed as much as her budget would allow. Tonight, she wanted to celebrate payday by choosing a new book to read, wanting to be distracted from worrying about what to wear for her next date with Joe.

She stood in front of her favorite section, browsing the latest releases, when a hand touched her shoulder. Startled, she jerked back in surprise. A heavy-set man in an olive-brown hip-length wool coat stood close to her. He had a navy cadet-style cap on, covering his head, but it emphasized his rectangular face and the way his nose was sharply angled. His neatly trimmed, full beard revealed he had chestnut brown hair. What caught Noelle’s attention the most was the way the stranger crowded in her personal space.

Seeing he had her attention, he asked, “You’re Noelle Étoile, right?”

“I don’t know who you mean,” Noelle stammered.

“You are!” the stranger crowed, certain of his discovery. “Noelle always wears a black pearl necklace.”

“Who are you?” Noelle asked, stepping back.

The stranger waved off her question with a careless hand. “You didn’t deserve what Fabien did to you. He didn’t know how to treat you.”

Afraid now, Noelle backed up, belatedly realizing she had backed herself into a bookshelf. “Who are you? How do you know about Fabien?” She tried to inch her way out of the space, but the stranger wouldn’t let her.

“I’m Guy Hopkins,” he told her. “You and I almost met a year ago, at the bakery you liked so much. I was right behind you in line and you didn’t notice me.” He seemed oddly delighted by her lack of attention.

She stared at him, horrified. He closed the distance between them.

“You ran when I saw you at the bus stop before Thanksgiving. I wanted to ask you a question. You shouldn’t have left. I don’t hurt people. I want to ask questions. It’s for history!” He waved his hands as if he was presenting an exciting opportunity. “You’ve met Richie Ryan. Are you collecting immortals like people collect toys? You should, you know. Not everyone gets to meet all the famous ones. You’re so lucky. I envy you. You get to talk to them. I watch and can’t talk to them.” He shook his head mournfully. “And you’re dating Joe Dawson, too. I admire him. Is he one of them too? Is that why they made him retire?”

“What are you talking about?”

Before she could get the answer to that question, a slender blonde, Nordic-stereotypical woman in a thick padded parka grabbed a hold of Guy’s arm and yanked him back. He stumbled with the force of her pull. “How many times do I need to remind you to leave other people alone, Guy? You will get us all killed,” she hissed at him. To Noelle, she said, “My apologies for my colleague here.” The blonde nodded towards the door. “Better get yourself gone while you can.”

Heeding her advice, Noelle abandoned the book she had intended to buy and left the shop. Shaken by the encounter, she went to Joe’s, hoping he would help her make sense of what just happened.

Stepping into the pub, she did not see Joe. Hoping he was merely in the back, she waved a hello to Roan, who acknowledged her as she passed through the employee-only door. Joe’s office was empty. Disappointed, she went back out to the bar. Seeing her, Roan stepped up.

“Looking to surprise Joe?” he asked her.

“Yes, if he was here, but I was also looking for Richie. Is he here?”

Roan shook his head. “No, Richie doesn’t work here anymore. Do you need him?”

Noelle bit her lip. “I’m not sure.”

Roan chuckled grimly. “That’s a yes. Let me call him. A glass of pinot while you wait?”

“Please.”

Roan filled a glass with the promised wine before signaling to the other bartender, a middle-aged black woman named Crystal, that he was taking a quick break.

“Where’s Joe?” Noelle asked Crystal.

“Home sick,” Crystal replied. “Tatiana said she had to convince him to go to the urgent care clinic this morning and then she had to drive him home in his car because he was too sick to see straight. He was muttering about how he had a date with you tomorrow.”

“Did Tatiana say what he was sick from?”

“That awful cold everyone’s gotten,” Crystal said sympathetically. “At least it’s not the flu. I take it Joe didn’t call you?”

Noelle shook her head. “I left my phone at home again today. That’s why I came over here instead of calling.”

Nodding her understanding, Crystal said, “He’s probably wondering why you haven’t called if he’s awake. Last night’s lead singer was sick and still tried to sing.”

Noelle winced. “I’ve done that. It’s not fun.”

Crystal nodded again. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Richie arrived twenty minutes later, long enough that Noelle had paid for her drink and was considering leaving. “Noelle, are you okay? Did anyone try to hurt you?”

“I’m fine but still a little rattled. Do you speak French?”

“Oui,” he returned. “Let’s go sit in Joe’s office so we can talk in private. Did you want another glass of wine?”

Noelle shook her head. She followed Richie into Joe’s office, relieved that he understood discretion.

“All right,” Richie said as he took a seat in one of the guest chairs while Noelle took the one opposite. “What happened? If it’s easier for you to speak French, that’s okay.”

“I was at the Queen City Bookstore, which is right below where I work,” Noelle told him in French. “This man got close and talked about following me in Paris and how he followed me here and how lucky I was to know you and Joe. He said you were famous. I don’t understand.”

Richie’s face darkened with anger at her words. “What else did he say?” he asked.

“He said Fabien didn’t deserve me.” Shaken, Noelle looked fearfully at Richie. “Are you like Fabien? He said he couldn’t die because he was immortal, but Nick assured me he was dead.”

Richie reached out, grasping her hands briefly. “Nick is my best friend. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. Did the person following you say who he was, or did he have anything unusual on his wrist or as a necklace or other jewelry?”

“He said his name was Guy Hopkins, and I saw no jewelry. A blonde woman pulled him back. I think she was at the Thanksgiving dinner I went to – I think she was the girlfriend of a grandchild.” Richie’s calm made Noelle relax more, and she lapsed back into English. “She muttered something about his behavior going to get them killed and said I’d better leave while I could, so I did.” Noelle looked at Richie. “Do you know who they were?”

“Not personally, but I have an idea who they represent. Did they say anything else to you?”

“The man said he had followed me in Paris.” Noelle leaned forward, afraid. “He wanted to ask me questions. If he finds me again, should I?”

Richie shook his head. “No. He doesn’t deserve the answers.”

“Who are they?”

Richie sighed. “A kind of fan club for immortals,” he told her. “They’re called Watchers.”

“But why are they following me? I’m not an immortal.”

“You know Joe has a tattoo on the inside of his wrist?”

“Yes. He’s never told me about it, so I figured it was just something that meant a lot to him at one time but now he regretted it.”

“I doubt it, but if I were you, I’d ask him about it. The tattoo he wears is the symbol of a Watcher. The Watchers follow immortals, but they also follow people who are strongly associated with an immortal.”

“But why?” Noelle didn’t understand.

“For history,” Richie told her. “If you live long enough, you could change the course of history – or maybe you were someone important during your mortal lifetime. Imagine what stories you could tell someone someday.”

“I’m sixty years old. Who would care about the stories I could tell about that bastard who hurt me? I’ve said all I ever want to say about that waste of humanity.”

“That may be the case, but now you know other immortals, so that means the Watchers still would have an interest in you.”

“To what end?” Baffled, Noelle continued in French, “I do not see what they hope to accomplish by whatever stalking they’re doing.”

“So that when the Prize is won, someone knows who we were,” Richie told her softly, also in the same language. “Especially if it’s won by someone evil.”

“And they haven’t watched every movie ever, in which the villain destroys the libraries, the histories, the truth-tellers, the ones who stand for hope?” Noelle asked incredulously. “Or lived in a small village where what the majority stands for is the way things go?”

“Apparently not,” Richie replied, admiring her insight.

“Are they volunteers or does someone pay them to do this?”

“They are a legitimate historical research organization based in Lyon, France, with branches all over the world, so yes, they pay their people. It’s not much, from what Joe’s told me. Field Watchers don’t make enough to live on, and the expectation is that you have a full-time position doing something else, preferably in something that will allow you the most access to the immortal you’ve been assigned.”

“Do you support them?”

“I have mixed feelings about it. I’ve had to report one for stalking, and I’ve had to throw a few out of this bar for being disruptive, trying to get close to me and my friends. Joe was a Watcher for decades; I owe him my life.”

“But you don’t give them any money or permission to follow you?”

“No money, and I don’t give them permission to follow me, not unless I know who they are.” Richie’s voice was flat.

“And if you do know them?”

“Then that’s different. Friends don’t stalk friends and write creepy narratives about what I had for breakfast and who I had it with.” Richie flashed a smile. “It’s a lot harder to do that when you know that person.”

“Do I need to do anything different?” Noelle fretted.

“Change your routine,” Richie suggested. “It might help for a little while. Do you drive to work?”

“I usually walk; the bus takes longer.”

“Then take a different route. Pay attention to your surroundings. The Watchers pride themselves on being people you don’t notice. That one of them made himself known to you violates their protocols. It’s not your fault, Noelle. You aren’t to blame for this idiot’s behavior. He crossed a line.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll talk to some people I know, find out if he’s part of a trend or just an individual who doesn’t respect boundaries, Noelle. I also suggest you talk to Joe.”

“He’s sick. I don’t want to worry him,” Noelle decided. “Thanks for coming when Roan called.”

“I was worried,” Richie said. “You’re important to Joe; that means you matter to me, too.”

Curious, Noelle asked, “How long have you known him?”

“About twenty years, give or take,” Richie said, and at her look of surprise, added gently, “Noelle, I’m not as young as I look. I died when I was nineteen.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Is it hard to look so young?”

“Sometimes. Do you want me to take you home, make sure that creep isn’t following you?”

“Yes, but don’t you ride a motorcycle?”

Richie grinned. “I do. Ever been on one?”

“Not since I was twenty-two,” Noelle told him. “And I don’t think it would be safe to ride with the long coat I’m wearing.”

Richie chuckled. “True. You’re in luck – tonight was cold enough I didn’t feel like riding. I have a car. Are you familiar with the car share service, Zipcar?”

“Is that the one where you can rent a car for an hour?”

“Yes. I use it a lot when the temperature dips below freezing, like tonight.”

“Then, yes, I’d love a ride home. I have a driver’s license for here, but I have driven little; Carina won’t let me drive her car beyond what I needed to get my license.”

“Driving in Paris is worse than here,” Richie assured her.

“The bus system is good here,” Noelle noted, “so I haven’t needed to drive. Why do you drive?”

“Love the freedom of being able to go when I want, instead of waiting at a bus stop,” Richie told her as he rose and led her out of the office.

* * *

Once Richie had escorted Noelle safely to her door, he waited outside in the rented car for fifteen minutes, making sure no Watchers were visible, before leaving and parking the car in a space close to Duncan’s house. He walked to the all-night diner two blocks away, smiling a greeting to the hostess as he took a seat at an empty table near the back of the restaurant.

The veteran waitress who poured his coffee teased him, “Thought you were giving up on the late-night coffee.”

“Have you been outside? I have to get warm before I cross the street again,” Richie joked. Diners like this had been godsends when he had been a homeless teenager, aided by kind-hearted waitresses willing to let him take up space in a corner if he kept quiet. He wasn’t here for the coffee.

He did not have long to wait. Like Richie, Angie Burke had come a long way from the streets of Seacouver, but part of her success in life had come courtesy of her friendship with Richie. He had not known the Watchers had recruited her until years after she had joined the organization. Now, she held the role Joe Dawson once held: that of Watchers Regional Director. Angie was a slender woman in her late forties. She had a wide forehead, an oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a hairline that set back farther on her head than most people’s. The red dye in her black hair was fading.

“You have that look I hate,” Angie greeted him as she slid into the booth. “Tell me who’s making you unhappy, so I can kick their ass.”

Richie smiled briefly. “Do you know Guy Hopkins?”

“He’s not supposed to follow you,” Angie said darkly. “I made sure he wasn’t assigned to you; I know how you feel about us when we’re intrusive.”

“He isn’t, as far as I can tell,” Richie assured her. “But he’s scared a friend of mine, and before I call the police on him, I wanted to see if you had any suggestions to help.”

Angie leaned forward intently. “How scared is scared?”

“Scared enough to call me. He frightened her. Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Angie blew out a breath. “He’s obsessive, which was a good thing when he was following Fabien Carpenter, who was a hard man to track until he settled in Paris. It wasn’t until then that Guy’s obsession spilled over. He got a warning for disrupting customers in Sanctuary. Headquarters sent him here, hoping he could behave, and assigned him a keeper. They had assured me Maja had him under control.”

“Well, he obviously isn’t.”

“Does Joe know about this?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first before I talked to him. From what I understand, he has a bad cold and is worried about making a date with Noelle tomorrow.”

“I’ll handle it,” Angie promised him. “Are you enjoying your work at Byte Vault?”

Richie shrugged. “Eh. They’re a cloud storage company; they try to make it sound like what they’re doing is the new hotness, but really, they’re trying too hard.” He grinned briefly, aware he was trading information on himself in exchange for whatever Angie could do. As he ate, he caught his old friend up on his Mexico trip, and she told him about her hilarious disaster of a Christmas dinner with her in-laws. Angie excused herself shortly afterward, telling him she needed to make calls to address the situation with Guy Hopkins.

Obsession, Richie knew, rarely ended well. He had learned that lesson the hard way, and it had been reinforced over the years in other ways. He trusted Angie to do what she could through the Watchers, but he suspected that would not be enough.


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re being ridiculous,” Joe admonished Richie four days later as they sat in the pub. “You need not babysit me or Noelle. I’m not sick, and Noelle is safe. Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I am working,” Richie said cheerfully, pointing to the laptop on the table in front of him. “It’s a lot of the electronic equivalent of watching paint dry. Later this week, we have major changes scheduled; this is just making sure the system needs no edits before then. I’d rather be here and sure you don’t need my help than be elsewhere and find out you needed me.”

“He has a point,” Noelle countered. “When I told Carina I had someone follow me, she insisted I go to the police station and file a report. She also said I could take a day off, since I have taken none since I started.”

Joe sighed. It was Monday afternoon, just past the lunch rush, and too early for the happy hour crowd, so the only patrons in the bar were Noelle and Richie; Roan was at the bar, helping Tatiana clean up after the lunch crush so she could go home. “I talked to Angie. She said they fired Guy Hopkins from the Watchers and files a restraining order on your behalf, Noelle.”

“Come on, Joe, how many times has a restraining order been effective?” Richie shot the retired Watcher a look.

“Do you really think your bosses will let you work remotely for however long you think Guy will remain a threat?”

“Actually, Joe, this is how I work most days,” Richie admitted cheerfully. “One reason I got hired to do this nine-month contract is because Byte Vault doesn’t want to lease additional space for new employees, but they need the expertise I bring to maintain security of their systems.”

Joe blinked at that. “You’re telling me you could have worked in Mexico.”

“Yeah, well, that was the initial plan,” Richie said with a grin. “Then I found out how crappy the Internet service was where I was and add that to the threat of being attacked by my then-lover, and well… home sounded good.”

Joe shook his head. “My point is – you need not be my shadow.”

“I feel better he’s here,” Noelle countered. “And besides, I don’t know him as well as I’ve gotten to know you.”

Joe threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine.”

Noelle kissed him. “Thank you, Joe.” Turning to Richie, she asked, “Did you grow up here or elsewhere?”

“Here,” Richie told her. “I had a rough childhood, but I got a lucky break when I was seventeen when Duncan MacLeod and Tessa Noel became my legal guardians. They changed my world.”

“Tessa was your guardian? No wonder Joe said you knew about her art!”

“Yeah, I learned to weld from her and helped her with the sculpture that’s in Pioneer Park.”

“Do you have a favorite of hers?” Noelle wondered.

“She usually did these massive sculptures, as you know,” Richie said, “but one of my favorites is one of her smaller ones. It’s a dragon made from scrap metal, about two feet long, with its wings extended as if it’s just landed.”

“Where can I see it?” Noelle wondered.

“It’s in storage, last I knew,” Richie said. “She made it for me, and I asked Mac to put it somewhere safe since I would be traveling.”

“I’d love to see it,” Noelle murmured.

Richie smiled. “I’ll see if I can find it and let you know. Mac’s in Scotland for the winter, so it may be spring before I can show it to you.”

“Is he in a remote area?”

“Yes, very remote. No Internet or cell service, and electrical power is limited by the generator.”

“Have you been there, Richie?” Joe asked.

Richie nodded. “A few times. It’s MacLeod land, and parts of it feel and look like nowhere else I’ve ever been. Connor took me there the first time; he yelled at Mac for not showing it sooner.” He grinned at the memory. “Connor expected Mac to have taken me there that first winter we spent in Paris.” At Noelle’s look of curiosity, Richie clarified, “Connor is Mac’s older cousin. They’re known as the Highlanders, and they’re among the best of our kind.”

“You sound very fond.”

“I am. They changed my life, and they are still two of the best men I’ve ever known. It’s strange to be here without Mac. He’s usually here.”

“Does Connor live here too?”

“No, he usually stays on the East Coast. It’s usually a big deal when they’re together. Few of my kind get to say they have family connections, and they’re one. Did you have a family growing up?”

“My adoptive parents were very supportive of my singing,” Noelle said. “They were so happy when my single was played on the radio. They didn’t understand the business side of things.”

“Are they still alive?” Joe interjected.

“No. Mama died of ovarian cancer when I was thirty-five; Papa tried to live past her, but he loved her dearly. He died eight months later. I think caring for her took a toll on him, and he had no energy left.” Noelle shrugged slightly; the grief was old and its memory bittersweet. “Are you dating anyone, Richie? You seem like you have a lot of love to give someone.”

“No,” Richie replied, leaning comfortably back in his chair. “Which isn’t the same as saying I’ve loved no one, which is usually the next question people ask me. I have; my life hasn’t always been a good place for me to find someone who meets my standards.” Glancing at Joe, he added, “I had a good example with Tessa and Mac. They were together for twenty years, and they loved with a fierceness and passion I hope to find someday.”

Noelle narrowed her eyes at him, then turned to Joe. “Has he always been this romantic?”

Joe laughed. “Yes.”

“We need to fix his single status,” Noelle decided.

“No, no, you don’t,” Richie hastened to tell her. “Last time someone tried to fix me up with someone, she was all wrong for me.” He quickly changed the subject, wanting to steer it to something less fraught.

Joe excused himself, needing to send his orders to the food and liquor distributors before their deadlines, so he headed back to the office. Tatiana stopped by to refill Noelle’s and Richie’s drinks before she left for the day.

“I should let you get work done,” Noelle said, picking up the book she had brought to read. “Even if it’s watching paint dry.”

Richie looked at her. “Tell me about the book; the stuff I’m working on is very automated. It’ll beep at me if something’s wrong.”

“You sure?” Noelle asked dubiously.

“Positive,” Richie assured her. “From the cover blurb, you’re reading a mystery novel. Have you figured out who did it?”

“No,” Noelle said, and started to describe the story.

Neither of them noticed the pub door opening, caught up in their conversation. Still, something made Richie look up. His movement made Noelle pause.

“Oh no,” she cried. “That’s Guy Hopkins. Richie, please, help?”

Guy had not seen them yet. Richie saw he was a heavy-set man in an olive-brown hip-length wool coat. Anger painted his rectangular, bearded face red, and he stormed into the room, looking for trouble. Richie realized Guy was between them and the back door; he could not sneak Noelle past him unless he confronted Guy. “Noelle, when I get up, run to Joe and get out of here, okay?”

Noelle looked at him, mouth open to protest, but he shook his head. “You need to go before he hurts you.”

Richie shut his laptop lid and rose to confront Guy. “Hey, Guy, you aren’t welcome here.”

Guy glared at him. “You don’t own this place. I can be here if I want. Where’s the bitch who got me fired? You think you’re hot shit because you’re Richie Ryan? I know how you used to get money.”

“So does everyone who’s ever read my Chronicle,” Richie said evenly. “Is that what you want, Guy? To know all of us? I can tell you stories.”

“I don’t fucking care anymore. You’re all going to hell anyway.”

Though Richie had expected trouble from Guy, he had expected to be able to talk him out of hurting anyone, especially in a public place. Moving faster than Richie expected for a heavy-set man, Guy then pulled out a knife from his sleeve and stabbed Richie through the heart.

Richie died as Noelle cried out in shock, alerting Roan, who had had his back turned when Guy had entered. Before Roan could get around the bar to interfere, Guy stepped around Richie’s fallen body to where Noelle sat, frozen in fear.

“You bitch! All you had to do was answer a question! Did Fabien tell you why he picked you? That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Je nais se pas,” Noelle pleaded, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t know,” she repeated in French.

“You got me fired,” Guy told her. “I wanted to ask you questions. You didn’t have to tell them anything, but you had to talk. Is that why Fabien made you kneel? I watched him, you know. He hated hearing you talk, but he loved to hear you sing. Why won’t you sing anymore?”

Noelle stared at him, horrified.

“Answer me!” Guy demanded. “Why did he pick you? Was it because you would be like him?”

“I don’t know!” Noelle burst out. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“I guess I must find out for myself the hard way,” Guy told her, pulling out a second knife and stabbing her. Her cry of pain echoed through the bar, and she slumped over the knife, dead.

Richie revived in time to see him strike Noelle. Blocked by the table, it took Richie a moment to reach Guy, but Roan was that much faster. Roan leaped over the bar and tasered Guy, who fell to the floor.

“I called 911,” Roan panted as Guy squirmed, trying to get free. “Cops will be here in a minute. You need to tend to Noelle and Joe.”

Richie’s eyes widened.

Roan shrugged and let the sleeve of his flannel shirt fall past his wrist, revealing his Watcher tattoo. “Angie said you might need help with Guy,” he said, half-apologetically.

“Thanks, Roan,” Richie said ruefully as Joe rushed forward.

“The hell – Noelle!”

“She’ll be all right in a minute, Joe,” Richie told him, and watched his longtime friend freeze.

The look Joe gave him was indescribable – part hope, part dismay.

Richie got up, put on one of his motorcycle gloves, and pulled out the knife in Noelle’s heart. Noelle gasped as she felt the pain of revival, then pressed a hand over the rapidly closing wound in her heart. She looked at Richie, shocked.

All in the room ignored Guy’s triumphant cry of, “I knew it! I knew it! See, they–”

Richie looked over his shoulder to see Roan had stuffed part of his flannel shirt into Guy’s mouth as a makeshift gag. Roan was tying Guy to a chair using a rope he had produced from somewhere. Seeing that Roan had Guy under control, Richie turned his focus to Noelle.

“You will be all right,” Richie told Noelle gently. “The police will be here. You can’t tell them you died; they won’t believe you. Let me do the talking.”

Noelle nodded. “I don’t know what to say,” she said in French. “I will pretend I don’t know English.”

“That works.”

Joe sank into a nearby chair just as the police entered.

For the next half hour, the pub was a crime scene. The police arrested Guy for attacking Richie and Noelle; the bloody knives only lent credence to that claim.

Joe closed the pub for the rest of the evening, dismissing the kitchen staff and Roan. Noelle sat in the same chair where she had died, unable to move in her shock.

“Joe, Noelle, I’m sorry,” Richie said in the silence. “I tried to figure out how I would tell you and I couldn’t.”

“Did… did Nick and Amanda know, too?”

“Yes.” Richie laid his cards on the table. “Nick said that was why Fabien got interested in you. He liked the idea of someone who would be with him forever.”

“But… but… I’m too old for this!” Noelle cried. “I don’t understand why now.”

Richie sighed. “Because you didn’t die earlier, that’s why. You now have the perfect cover: everyone will think you’re old and harmless instead of young and harmless.”

Noelle stared at him, then turned to Joe, who sat in the chair across from her. “And you? Did you know?”

Joe shook his head. “No one told me.” He looked at Richie. “That why you kept hesitating every time you and I talked? You wanted to say what Noelle would be?”

“Meth-Ben suggested I wait and see how serious you were before I said anything.”

Joe closed his eyes. “He told Alexa about immortality when she was dying.”

“Who’s Alexa?” Noelle wondered.

“His last wife,” Joe said roughly. “They met here, in my bar, at the old location. She was dying of cancer. He made her last three months alive the best anyone could ever wish for.”

Noelle drew in a deep breath before letting it out. “Richie, I’m like you now, right?”

“Yes. Only way you’ll die permanently is if you lose your head.”

“That means I need to know how to survive like you and Nick and Amanda.”

“Yes. Usually that means you find a teacher, if one hasn’t found you first. If you want someone who died when he was about your age, I’d have to check. I don’t know of anyone offhand but given who I know, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m closer to someone like that than I think.” Richie squared his shoulders. “I’d love to teach you if you’d let me, Noelle. I learned a lot of things the hard way and I’d like to share that with someone.”

“Do I have to go away somewhere to do that?”

“Not unless you want someone other than me, or we discover that you and I aren’t compatible as teacher and student. My friends of friends may have lives elsewhere that would mean a relocation. You’re lucky in that your death isn’t public, and isn’t recorded anywhere, so as far as your identity is concerned, you lose nothing.”

“Then I don’t want to leave here, and I like you well enough,” Noelle declared.

“You might change your mind in the morning. Let’s get you home, and we’ll talk about everything tomorrow,” Richie suggested. “Joe, sitting here won’t help you, either. Go home. You and Noelle need to figure out what you will do next, and I highly recommend neither of you decide tonight.”

Noelle looked at Richie. “Would it be too much to ask if I could stay with you tonight? I don’t… I don’t think I want to go home just yet.”

“Of course.”

Joe bowed his head, taking it as a personal rejection.

After pulling on his coat and sticking his laptop in his backpack, Richie rose. “Get sleep, Joe, preferably not here. I’ll call you.”

“Watch your heads.”

Noelle followed Richie out, then backtracked. “I love you, Joe. No matter what happens.” She kissed his lips when he didn’t respond, his forehead. With a sigh, she stepped back and followed Richie out of the pub.

* * *

Joe watched them exit, feeling like his world had just imploded. He had held firm to his rules about immortals for decades now. Being friends with them had proven to be dangerous enough to his health – but he loved Noelle. Outside of the YouTube videos and her occasional singing in the shower, he wanted to see her perform. Was he being too firm on holding to his principles?

He had always told himself he would never let himself love an immortal. Amanda had flirted with him, but he had never taken her seriously, seeing it as a tactic before she asked for a favor. Other immortals – male and female – had flirted with Joe over the years, but he had always held fast to his conviction that friendship with an immortal was as far as he wanted to cross the line between his long-held oath not to interfere in immortal business. Joe wasn’t a Watcher anymore, so he did not have an oath to uphold, but old habits died hard.

In a daze, he rose and put his hand on the table where Noelle had died. Roan had scrubbed and sanitized it, so no evidence remained. Not for the first time, Joe wished he could have been in the room when Guy had attacked, wished he had been faster and armed with the gun he used to carry when he had expected trouble, wished he could have done…something, anything, to prevent Noelle dying.

 _She would still be immortal, and you wouldn’t have known it,_ a voice in his head reminded him.  _Richie would still be wrestling with whether to tell you. He might have decided to tell Noelle before he told you. You might still be standing here in the dark with a broken heart._

With a deep sigh, he decided to take Richie’s advice and go home before he stared too long at the table where Noelle had died. Tomorrow would be soon enough to make decisions about his love life.

As he went to set his phone on his nightstand, he saw he had a text from Lucy.

_Richie texted me you might need a friend. Call if you want to talk._

Joe stared at it a long time before replying, _Thanks._ He did not want to talk about this situation with his ex-girlfriend, even if she had become a better friend than girlfriend in the years since they had been lovers.

Then, because he knew Lucy would not take that as no, he blocked her number.


	9. Chapter 9

“You okay with taking the bus?” Richie asked Noelle once they stepped out of the pub. “It’ll be faster than trying to find a Zipcar.” He pulled out his phone and checked the app. “Besides, it looks like the nearest one to us is about a mile away.”

“Long as you don’t mind if we sit up front,” Noelle replied.

“I’ll pretend you’re my grandmother, how’s that?”

Noelle froze, then looked at him. “It’s okay to joke about that?”

“Hell yes, it’s okay. You’re allowed to feel what you feel, Noelle. Being immortal doesn’t change that.”

Noelle considered that as they walked down the block to the nearest bus stop. “Even if I think the Game sounds like you’re asking me to murder someone else?”

“Even if,” Richie affirmed. “Whether it’s murder or self-defense is a matter of who challenged who and why. Why are you fighting to win against this other immortal, whoever they are? And can you agree to not fight? I’ve had challenges where I’ve said, ‘look, this is ridiculous. You want to live forever, I want to live forever, let’s have a beer instead.’”

“And they went with that?”

“Often enough to make me hope it will happen again,” Richie told her as he pulled out his bus pass from one of his many pockets in his jacket. “And we’ll talk more when we aren’t going to be overheard,” he added as the bus pulled to a stop.

They boarded, Noelle pulling her pass out of her purse and swiping it before she sat down near the front of the bus. “Do you think Joe is mad at me?”

“I don’t know,” Richie replied. “He’s had a shock, and you’re managing more admirably than I expected.”

“It will hit me later,” Noelle assured him.

“Then take the time to process it now,” Richie suggested. “We’ll be on the bus for another fifteen minutes.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly before falling silent. He typed a text to someone, Noelle noted absently, but did not speak to her. She was grateful for his silence and for the hand he kept on hers, reassuring her with the contact that she was indeed alive.

The day was taking on a surreal feel. Night had fallen while they had waited for the police to let them go. Noelle’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she had not eaten since lunch.

“Do you mind if we stop and get something to eat?” she asked Richie.

“There’s a diner not far from our stop,” Richie told her. “That okay with you? I can also order us something delivered, if you’d rather not be around people, or cook you some pasta.”

“Pasta sounds good,” Noelle said gratefully. She was shaking a bit, she realized, delayed shock setting in.

Noelle wasn’t sure what to expect from Richie’s residence, but the luxury condo above a flower shop was not it. He used a passkey to unlock a reinforced glass door beside the flower shop; the door, which shut and locked automatically behind Noelle and Richie, led into a small lobby with mailboxes for the flower shop and the condo.

“Was this once a bigger building?” Noelle wondered as Richie led the way to a secured elevator.

“Yeah, it used to be a tech startup, back before the dot-com bust,” Richie told her as he activated the elevator and pressed the button. “Developer bought it, turned it into a two-unit condo, couldn’t sell it as that, redid it, offered it as a luxury two-level, and Mac bought it. He’s had it, oh, about twelve years now.”

“Do you always stay with him?”

“Nah, eventually I go find my place if I plan to be in town long enough,” Richie said cheerfully. “Mostly so I don’t have that vague feeling of staying at my parents’ house.”

“Mac – is that same person as Duncan MacLeod? I’m a little confused.”

“Yes, it is. Mac is his nickname.” Richie gave Noelle the grand tour, adding, “The doors lock automatically this time of night, so if you feel the need to run screaming out of here, you won’t be able to get back in unless you call me.”

Noelle sat down abruptly on the couch at that news. “Oh.”

“Let me get the pasta started,” Richie said.

Noelle watched him, numb and not seeing anything until he tugged her to her feet and gently escorted her to the dinner table. She ate mechanically, the combination of a flavorful tomato sauce, parmesan cheese, and angel hair pasta reassuring in its simplicity. Slowly, she became more aware of where she was and what had happened.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” she asked, realizing she had eaten everything on her plate.

“No, this won’t take me more than a few minutes,” Richie assured her. “Everything just goes in the dishwasher.”

Taking a deep breath, Noelle nodded her acceptance and took up position on the couch. “I died today,” she said aloud, testing the words on her tongue.

Richie moved to the living room. “Yes, you did. Are you sore? Did the pasta help?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I’m usually ravenous after I die. Dying and reviving takes a lot of energy, and how fast you recover from it varies.”

“Does winning against another Immortal help?”

“Some,” Richie admitted. “There are benefits from taking a Quickening, which I won’t get into; it’s too much to talk about now.”

“Joe hates me.”

Richie crouched down, lifting her chin so he could meet her eyes. “No, Joe is having a crisis of being caught between his rules about immortals and what he knows about you. Give him some time. I texted a friend to check on him.”

“And what is his rule about immortals?”

“That he’ll be friends with us but not be a lover of one,” Richie noted. “But he also is a man who once swore to uphold an oath not to interfere. I happen to be alive because he disregarded that oath. I wouldn’t put too much weight on it now. The important part tonight is: do you want to borrow a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and what time do you want me to wake you, so we can get breakfast?”

Incredulous, Noelle asked, “It’s that simple to you?”

“At the moment, yes,” Richie replied. “You died, Noelle. If you need to check if you’re one of us, go get a kitchen knife and cut your forearm – over the sink, please, I’m not in the mood to clean blood out of this carpet – and see the lightning for yourself.”

Noelle stared at him for a long, wordless moment, then rose and did exactly what he suggested. She gasped as the pain hit, then gasped again when the blue lightning stitched up the deep cut she had made. Only the echo of pain made her feel like anything had happened. She turned at the feel of Richie’s presence, preceding his arrival into the kitchen.

“I can feel you in my head,” she stated, “like an echo of a song I should know and fear.”

“That’s your warning of another immortal approaching,” Richie told her. “Pay attention; it’ll save your life. Don’t take it for granted, either. Friends could become enemies without warning.”

“And what if I say fuck that shit and live like I want?”

“Your chances of living to see the next five years just went down exponentially,” Richie told her seriously. “I know of immortals who do it, who never play the Game – but they usually surround themselves with a plethora of armed guards or live on holy ground. Tonight, let me be the one on watch; all you need to do is–”

“Tell you whether I want to borrow something to sleep in,” Noelle finished. She let out a breath. “You’re not hiding the truth from me; you just want to give me a chance to sleep on the shock I’ve had.”

“Precisely.”

“And if I wanted to text Joe?”

“Your phone,” Richie shrugged. “But as someone who’s lived that – wait until the morning.”

Noelle searched his face. “Why? I still love Joe – that hasn’t changed.”

“Then look at this way: waiting until the morning gives both of you time to absorb what’s happened tonight. The guest bathroom has clean towels and extra toiletries, including an unused toothbrush if I remember right. Did you want that t-shirt and shorts?”

“Yes, please.”

Much to her surprise, Noelle slept. She texted Carina, telling her she needed to take another day, which Carina granted readily. Richie had breakfast waiting for her, and she smiled as she realized he had set up a traditional French breakfast of croissants, jam, honey, butter, coffee, and orange juice. He had even gotten ham and cheese croissants as well as plain ones.

“Thought you might appreciate this,” he told her as she sat down at the dinner table.

She nodded and took a plain croissant. After tasting it and realizing how perfect it was, she asked, “Where did you get the croissants?”

“Place called The French Bakery,” Richie told her. “It’s about a mile from here.” He took a ham and cheese croissant and they ate in companionable silence.

Noelle realized she was hungrier than she thought and took a second croissant. Richie grinned.

“If you’re still hungry, I can scramble eggs.”

“Do you cook often?”

“Mostly for me, rarely for other people,” Richie admitted. “My body thinks it’s nineteen, so I eat like it. That gets expensive if I eat out all the time.” He took a breath. “I thought you and I would take time to discuss your situation, answer questions you have, and figure out what you want to do from here.”

“I get to choose?”

“I’m not the asshole immortal who abused you,” Richie said, annoyed by the assumption. “It’s your life. How you want to live it, even if I disagree, is up to you. If you don’t want to fight in the Game, I’ll tell you it’s a hard way to go, but you can do it. The problem with that is that you’ll die the first time a headhunter comes and challenges you. If you’re okay with that, that’s your choice.”

Noelle studied him, seeing grief in his eyes. “You lost someone you cared about that way.”

Richie sighed. “Yes. She was Mac’s goddaughter. She was like a sister.”

“How long did she live?”

“About four years past her first death.”

Noelle sipped her coffee as she considered. “That doesn’t seem like much.”

Richie shook his head. “It isn’t. For Michelle, I suspect it was four years too long. Immortality for her was a nightmare.”

“Because she was not prepared to defend herself?”

Richie nodded. “Among other reasons. You’re not her, and I doubt you’d ever be. What do you want to do next?”

“Are there any rules about loving an immortal?”

Richie shook his head. “We’re not a formal society, Noelle. Most of the immortals I know have been because Mac was my guardian and later, my teacher. I didn’t grow up with a family, so for me, having people like me who are my friends is the closest thing I get to have one and those bonds are important. As for rules: really, there’s only one: don’t fight on holy ground.”

Noelle blinked at that. “Why not? And how can you tell?”

“Fighting on holy ground will blow up everything around you, so you risk being killed by the deity whose ground you’re desecrating with violence and bloodshed. There’s a resonance from being on holy ground – and that’s anything consecrated to worship a deity. Mac has an island in a lake north of here that’s sacred to an Indian tribe whom only he and his cousin remember. I’ll take you to a cemetery or a church – your preference – so you can see what I mean.”

“So someplace that used to be church a hundred years ago and is now, say, an apartment building likely isn’t holy ground anymore,” Noelle interpreted.

Richie nodded. “It has to be somewhere that keeps that resonance. A friend of mine took me to an apartment building that was built over an Indian burial ground, and it was the first time I’d ever been to somewhere that felt violently desecrated.”

Noelle made a face at that. “If I asked you to teach me how to fight, would I have to pay you?”

“No, and you wouldn’t owe me for it, either. Most of us consider training a new student payback for what our teachers taught us.”

“Wouldn’t your time be worth something?”

Richie reached across the table and grasped Noelle’s left hand briefly. “I’m not broke, if that’s what worries you. Teaching you won’t bankrupt me unless you plan on stealing from me, and you don’t strike me as a thief.”

“But if you’re living here with your teacher –”

“–only because I’m also house-sitting. He knew I wouldn’t be able to make it through the winter in Mexico; my luck goes south every time I try, and this is the third time so maybe I should just quit trying.”

“Oh.” Noelle considered. “What will you teach me?”

“How to fight with a sword, how to get out of a morgue, how to walk away from a fight and keep your head, how to reinvent yourself when you die publicly, and how to deal with identity problems in a digital age. For most of the immortals I know, it was easier to pretend you had a doppelgänger before the Internet. Mac’s kept the same name for over four centuries and nobody’s blinked, but I told him he might have to reconsider his ‘I inherit a hereditary name’ trick.”

“That’s a lot,” Noelle said, blinking in surprise as she sat back. “Do you use social media?”

“Never with a photo,” Richie said. “I can’t control other people taking photos of me, but for the things I can control, I limit the information available.” He studied Noelle. “You are more resilient than I expected, Noelle.”

She chuckled ruefully. “Nick insisted I go to therapy, and the therapist he found knew about immortals, so I could talk freely about what I knew. I do better when I have someone I can take care of. Do you think Joe will let me?”

“I don’t know,” Richie said honestly. “Did you text him last night?”

“No. You were right to convince me not to do anything. I typed this long message and didn’t send it. I looked at it this morning and it was full of pleading with him not to leave me.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“Yes, but…” Noelle flashed him a smile. “I’m glad I have the chance to edit it. I was reacting last night. I still want to be with Joe; I love him so much, but if I’d sent that message last night, I’d be embarrassed. It sounded clingy and desperate.”

Richie smiled. “Then it’s a good thing you didn’t.”

“What happens if he doesn’t want to be with me?” Noelle looked at him, worried. “The way he was acting last night, it was as if he didn’t want to be with me anymore. It’s not my fault I died.”

“No, it’s not,” Richie replied. “But I’ve seen people react differently to discovering the person they loved is immortal. It doesn’t always end happily.”

“But – I woke up this morning and looked at myself in the mirror. I feel no different than yesterday, other than being aware you’re like me. I still love Joe.”

“Then text him and see if he responds,” Richie said gently, “and prepare for him not to say anything right away.”

“Wouldn’t the fact he was a Watcher of immortals change his perspective?” Noelle asked hopefully.

Richie hesitated. “Let’s hope it changes it in your favor, but if I were you, I’d wait a few more days before you made any declarations.”

“Why?” Noelle demanded. “Do you want me to choose you instead?”

“No!” Richie looked horrified. “You’re a beautiful woman, but I’m not attracted to you. You barely know what being an immortal means. Don’t you want to hear me out and see what you need to learn before you declare you want Joe back in your life?”

Noelle studied him. “You think there’s a strong chance Joe might hold to his rule.”

Richie nodded. “Or you might decide, given the risk involved, that love isn’t enough to overcome that danger. Joe’s had decades to see what loving an immortal is like from the perspective of an outside observer – he watched Mac and Tessa’s relationship for most of the two decades they were together, and he watched Mac fall in love with someone who decided, after trying to be together, that she couldn’t stay with him.”

“Did you see it happening?”

Richie nodded. “I was so happy for Mac. But there are concerns you haven’t addressed yet. What happens when Joe’s health fails? Or when some headhunter kidnaps him to get to you?”

Noelle stared at Richie. “They would do that?”

“Yes.” Richie met her gaze. “If I was a headhunter, I’d kidnap you and Joe. You’d probably plead for me to spare Joe, say you’d do anything to save him, and you might even offer your life for his.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “Either you are a headhunter, or you had this happen to you! That is awful!”

Richie shrugged. “Yes.” He did not clarify the statement, letting the weight of it sink in.

Noelle pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified. “And Joe watched and did nothing to save you?”

“Not then, but he did another time, which is why I’m here now,” Richie informed her. “Noelle, I won’t sugarcoat this life, but I also don’t want to make the mistake of pretending you have more time to figure it all out than you do. We have a limited window in which only me, Roan, and Joe know you’re immortal. Once you step outside this condo, away from me, someone will figure out you’re new to the Game. Within the first 48 hours of my becoming immortal, a headhunter challenged me; I ran to a church and hid out until the headhunter got tired and gave up – but that was fourteen hours later.”

Noelle looked away briefly. “And Joe thinks we’re too dangerous to love. Maybe he has a point.”

“Again, Noelle – it’s your life, your heart, and I’ll only advise you on the things I think you absolutely need to know. What you do with it all is up to you.”

Briskly, he changed the subject, unwilling to linger on that point. “Do you want to figure out a schedule for when you can train with me? I’m flexible but I want to be sure you can at least defend yourself against an attack before the week’s out. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel comfortable letting you walk around this city by yourself without at least a Taser.”

“Is it that dangerous here for us?”

Richie sighed. “Yes. Headhunters know this is where one of the Highlanders live, and I’m known for actively playing the Game. The headhunters will target you just out of proximity.”

“And you don’t want to spend all your time escorting me around,” Noelle surmised.

“Much as I like you – no.” Richie smiled easily. “Would you rather I bring in a woman to teach you? Amanda would jump in to help you if I asked. Michelle told me learning from Amanda differed from learning from Mac because she could appreciate things like how different fighting is when you have breasts.”

Startled, Noelle looked at him. “Later, if you think there’s value in having that perspective. I know Amanda well enough to know things don’t always go according to her plans. I’d also feel better if you taught me what’s true about living as an immortal before I talked to her. But if you want someone to help you, I wouldn’t object. I know you said you might have a heavier workload later this week.”

Richie nodded, and they spent the rest of the morning negotiating the details of how Noelle’s training would go.

Across town, Joe stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, remembering how the last time he had lain there, Noelle had been with him. His phone buzzed on the nightstand, letting him know of an incoming text message. Reluctantly, he rolled over and checked it, some part of him hoping it was from Noelle. Instead, it was a message from Roan, telling him not to worry about coming in to open the pub because he and Crystal would handle it.

Joe closed his eyes, torn between his innate determination to not let life’s curveballs keep him from living his life and a real desire to indulge in a pity party. He had wanted to love Noelle, wanted to see if she would want to grow old with him. He had dreamed about making a commitment he had avoided making for decades. Now that dream was shattered, broken by an irrefutable fact: Noelle was not mortal, and growing old together was an unrealistic scenario.

He needed to be strong, he decided. His rule about not loving an immortal had merit, after all – he had seen just how dangerous other immortals could be. How would he protect himself if she took a Dark Quickening? Or had to choose between a long-standing loyalty to another immortal and Noelle? Not for the first time, Joe regretted he had let Amanda convince him to lie to Nick; Nick had forgiven him but had made it clear he had not forgotten. No, better to stay a friend and keep his distance.

For a moment, he debated whether he could pretend what he had with Noelle was a friends-with-benefits situation – but as soon as the idea floated through his head, Joe rejected it. He respected Noelle too much to lie like that. He loved her and he….

Joe took a deep breath and let it out, remembering how he had once tried to tell Duncan that he was a Watcher and that lines between immortals and Watchers were clear. In the years since that argument, Joe and the immortals he had befriended had repeatedly blurred and erased those lines in the name of friendship. Joe had to stay firm in his conviction that anything more than friendship was too dangerous for the lovers involved.

Noelle was immortal, and she did not need his love, especially now she needed to learn how to fight. Loving him would be a distraction. Seacouver was a magnet for headhunters. Once word got out that Richie was with a new immortal, Noelle would be a target. She would be better off without Joe to slow her down. He was not someone who could run easily if her life depended on it. The way she had died only emphasized that point. If she texted or called, he would ignore it. Eventually, she would get the message he was not interested. His heart would mend, given enough time.

Resolved, Joe got up to start his day. He had ignored his laundry; having a free morning was enough justification to get a load started.


	10. Chapter 10

Joe had not seen or heard from Noelle and figured that Richie would have told her about his rule. He missed her, though, and his heart ached. He thought about texting her but held off, believing his rule had merit. The longer they were apart, though, the more he wondered if he was being hypocritical. He had stayed friends with several immortals for decades; how was loving one that different? He had already risked death for years – had shot Duncan during his Dark Quickening, had been seen in the company of a half dozen famous immortals, had been tried by the Watcher Tribunal for his friendships…. Was he afraid Noelle would take a Dark Quickening and kill him? And if that happened, would it matter? He would be dead and the only people to care would be those alive to mourn him.

No, Joe thought, he was afraid she would see him as broken and imperfect. Immortality meant being able to heal from everything, and he would never know that.

 _Get a grip,_ Joe reminded himself. _It’s not like she doesn’t know you don’t have all your limbs._

He exhaled heavily. _But she could love anyone else,_ a voice in his head whispered. _Richie might have convinced her she would be better to abide my rule, which I’ve had for decades._ Joe doubted Richie would do something like that, but he also knew how ruthless the redheaded immortal could be.

Realizing he was being ridiculous, letting his mind come up with worst-case scenarios with no evidence, and grateful Richie had not contacted him, Joe resolved the next time Noelle came into the bar, he would talk to her and see if they could work out something. He had no way to know what she was thinking, and for all he knew, his hopes would be dashed anyway.

As if to further emphasize his thoughts, Lucy reached him at the bar, three days after Noelle’s first death. Tatiana transferred the call back to Joe in his office, claiming ‘some woman with a thick accent wants to talk to you.’

“Hello, this is Joe, can I help you?”

“Yes,” Lucy said briskly, “you can start by opening your mind. What line wouldn’t you cross for Noelle that you haven’t already crossed for an immortal friend?”

That made Joe pause. “I won’t kill for her, not unless it was to save her life or that of a friend,” he said finally.

“How’s that different from three days ago?”

Joe closed his eyes briefly. “It’s not.”

“Then talk to her about what you’re willing to do. Marco never wanted me to know when he fought in challenges, but I knew. You can’t hide that smell, that look.”

“Marco?”

“My immortal husband,” Lucy replied. “Whom I was not supposed to outlive, but it’s been most of my adult life since he lost his head.”

Joe blinked. He knew Lucy had been married to a man named Marco but had not realized she had been married to an immortal. “Weren’t you ever afraid he might change because of the Quickening?”

“Sure, and he was afraid I’d want someone my age. Everyone has a fear, Joe. Noelle’s going to be busy with all the things she needs to learn as a new immortal, but she’s still going to need her anchors. From what I heard, she’s come to rely on you.”

“All the more reason to be her friend.”

“And spend whatever time she has with you tiptoeing around the fact you still want her as a lover?” Lucy said pointedly. “You don’t need any more inspiration to sing and play the blues, Joe.”

He sighed. “Did you just call to scold me?”

“Is it working?” Lucy asked, interested. “Stop being stubborn about whatever it is you’re clinging to as a reason for not continuing to love Noelle, Joe. I know you and I didn’t work out, but we’re two of a kind – too committed to what we do for a living. People like Noelle are exactly who we need to make us lose focus from work and remember that love is precious.”

Joe looked at his phone and realized Lucy was right. “I’ll think about it,” he allowed, certain if he said she was right, she would not let him forget it.

To his surprise, Lucy was satisfied with that answer, and disconnected the call shortly afterwards.

Gathering his courage, Joe called Noelle, but his call went to voicemail, so he left her a message. “Hey, it’s Joe. I’d love to sit down and talk with you about where we go from here.” He hung up the phone and winced as he rewound the message in his head, realizing he sounded more formal than he intended. He resisted the urge to call and leave a second message, figuring it would only make him sound like an anxious teenager. Joe then spent the next several days anxiously checking to see if she had texted or called him, but she did not. Her silence made him wonder if he had done the right thing.

Eight days after her first death, Noelle stepped into his bar, accompanied by an immortal Joe was surprised to see. As they walked in, Noelle was deep in conversation with the hawk-nosed man, who wore a long gray dress coat over a thick cable-knit sweater, jeans, and sneakers. Noelle and Methos moved to a corner table, still chatting intently.

“You going to say hello or you going to stare?” Richie startled Joe out of his reverie, coming from behind Joe.

“I thought Methos was in Bora Bora,” Joe said helplessly.

“Or London,” Richie said with a grin and a shrug. “I quit asking. He said if you were going to be an idiot, he’d happily take Noelle anywhere she wanted to be. She said she wanted to be here.”

Joe sighed and braced himself before walking over to the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Noelle rose to her feet and kissed him. With joy exploding in his heart she still wanted him, Joe responded enthusiastically until they were both breathless and someone in the bar shouted, “Get a room!”

“I love you, Joe,” Noelle said, smiling as she drew back. “I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. Ben says he has faith we can make it work if we talk about what we want and expect from each other. Richie said we also needed to discuss precautions so we don’t do stupid things to save each other when danger happens.”

Joe looked at her, then at Richie and Methos, and realized his friends had talked with Noelle. “I love you, too, Noelle, and I want to sit down with you and talk about those things. You sure you want to spend the rest of my life with me?”

“As these two have pointed out,” Noelle told him, “it could be the rest of my life, too, depending on how much I play the Game. I want to spend it with you.”

Joe kissed her. “Yes, let’s do that.”

_…and they lived happily ever after._

The End


End file.
